Misfit
by Xandra the Blue
Summary: Set forty years onward, in the year 2003, a girl goes to the old manor on the hill, and finds a certain person hiding there.Chapter 10 is up! WHOO!
1. Thunder and lightening very frightening

Misfit  
  
Or  
  
The return of Edward Scisorhands  
  
By Xandra the Blue  
  
Hi! This is my first movie fic, unless you count LOTR, which I don't, and I hope you enjoy it.  
  
I recently saw this film on Channel 4 (comic relief was crap this year, admit it!) and cried at the end of it. I didn't cry for Winoda Rider, or for the fact that their love had ended, but I cried tears of anger. They had taken him out of his natural environment, and treated him like a circus freak, then, when they got bored of him they threw him away. I cried tears of anger he couldn't cry himself, and cried because the second time he had loved someone had again ended in heart break (the professor first loved him.). Okay, this interpretation may not be correct, or be the way you saw the film, but this was how I saw him. Out of all the characters, I wanted Edward to have a happy ending. This is my attempt at that ending.  
  
Note - this would not make a good film; so don't imagine it as a film. Imagine it as a life.  
  
I tried not to Mary Sue it, so please forgive any Mary Sue qualities my leading lady might have.  
  
Disclaimer - I do not own this, I make no money from it and I don't claim to write well. All I claim to write are truths as I see them and ATTEMPT to write good stories that will at least be of passing interest to you. Thank you.  
  
Summary - Set forty years onward, in the year 2003, a girl goes to the old manor on the hill, and finds a certain person hiding there.  
  
*********  
  
Jane knew about the old legend of the haunted Mansion. She had heard it when she was very small from neighbours and other children. The story was that it was haunted by the ghost of Scisorhands, a terrifying monster with razors instead of fingers. Jane had heard the story that he came down to The Town and had been accepted by the people until it went crazy, robbing and killing people and died when a local boy killed it in a heroic fight to the death. Jane, personally, didn't believe a word of it. The very idea that a) a person with scissors for hands hadn't been experimented on by the government, b) they hadn't been found before.  
  
Jane was about sixteen and had hair like straw, both in colour and constancy. She was, like many teenagers of her age, rejected by the others in her school, and today wanted to go as far away from them as possible. What she really needed was to escape them, and for a while her eyes had been turning to the mansion on the hill. No one lived there, she had found that out, and no one would go up there. It was a perfect place to go and be alone. So, at the end of the school day, after her daily name-calling she had run as fast as she could here.  
  
She opened the gate to the mansion with an ear-piercing squeak. She walked into the strangely kept garden. She had expected it to be overgrown, maybe even dead, but it looked like someone, or something had been keeping it in order. Jane put the thought out of her head. It was probably some gardener in the Town who didn't have anywhere else to practise working. Jane walked around the giant squirrel, and looked at the huge hand. My, it was big, she thought to herself. She couldn't resist saying out aloud, ' this is the second biggest hand I've ever seen. '  
  
She heard the sound of a snip behind her. Jane turned around, scared. She saw nothing. She looked all around her. Nothing, still nothing. Jane sighed again, and looking up into the bright blue sky sat down under the shade of the green hand protruding from the ground and took out her notebook. But most of all she sat, taking in the bizarre beauty of the garden. There were sculpted animals of all sorts, and thousands and thousands of flowers, all leading up to the grotesque gothic door. Jane liked the surroundings, she liked the way the garden seemed to clash with the building, and she liked the way she could be on her own. And yet, yet she felt as if she was being watched. As if something was watching her, making sure she didn't hurt the flowers.  
  
Jane tried not think about it, and took out a notepad. She knew she had to find a way to keep the feeling of mysticism in the garden, so she decided to pin it down in a poem. But as she tried, she discovered that no poetry could ever pin down the feeling she felt. Of course, she felt the beauty all around her, and the feeling of peace, but she also felt as if she had disturbed something, a feeling of tension, of being unwelcome. There was a silence anxiety in the air, which made Jane want to leave, but she didn't. The place was too quiet to leave, and when she got up to look down the hill, she saw a gang of boys waiting for her at the bottom.  
  
Jane was too scared to go back down to face them, so she stayed. She stayed for over four hours, writing and checking to see if they had left. But they had not. Jane sighed, and looked at her watch. She had said she'd be home two hours ago. She sighed again, and felt a drop of rain on her nose. Great, she thought, all I need now is it to rain! She ran to the gate again, checking it to see if the boys had left. She saw them running back down to town, but Jane saw their was no time to go back down. She ran towards the giant hand, seeking shelter, but then she heard a great thunderclap, and saw a bolt of lightening hit a rabbit shaped bush. She screamed, and ran to the door of the mansion. She couldn't stay out here! Jane lent on the door, and to her surprise it fell open. She crawled inside, and slammed the door behind her.  
  
Inside it was dark, like no one had been here for years. Dust and cobwebs covered everything in the hall. It looks just like a hammer hock movie, she thought to herself. She got up off the floor, and saw a door. As she knelt on her knees, she heard a sound like a pair of hedge trimmers snip. Jane got up quickly, and trying to not sound as afraid as she was said, 'hello? Is anyone here?'  
  
She heard no answer. She listened to the room for a second, and heard nothing still. All she could here was the sound of herself breathing. Jane sighed, and looked around the room. All she could see was dust, and cobwebs and.she saw a door. An old door. Maybe the sound had come from there, she thought, and walked towards it, her nervous footsteps the only sound filling the empty hall. She opened the door with a billowing creak, and stepped inside. She closed the door slowly behind her with a boom that seemed to go on for fathoms. As she walked in she said to herself, 'there's nothing to be frightened of, it's all in your mind.' As she walked slowly across the black and white floor, she heard another snip from somewhere, sounding almost amiable. She quickly spun around on her heels, and breathing heavily looked around. She shouted out, 'who's there!' There wasn't an answer, but she felt there was something other than her feeling nervous in here.  
  
Jane, breathing out, pinched herself and said out aloud 'stop it Jane! There's nothing here, there's been no one here for years!'  
  
She sat down on a machine that had been obscured by dust and grime, and trying to get her nerves back began to sing 'til the end by Haven, to herself out of key.  
  
'I never though I'd see you 'till the end,' she warbled nervously, 'It goes way down, makes no sense, And all the times you turned to run away, Well bitch about the times, The times I still hold dear.'  
  
She heard another snip. She stopped singing immediately, and listened. She got up, and in a flash of lightening she saw something move in the shadows. She panicked, and ran to the door, but when she tried to open it, she found it was stuck. Desperately she tried to turn the doorknob, but it wasn't working. It just seemed to make the door jam more. She heard snips behind her, getting louder and closer. She rattled the doorknob in vain, and tried to get out.  
  
'It's just your imagination!' she cried out, tears in her voice, 'Stop it!' but her voice was drowned in another crash of thunder.  
  
She turned around, and screamed with pure fear.  
  
There was something behind her, something horrible! It had long knifes in its hands, raised up to her, the face scarred and pail, with dark plum coloured rings around the eyes and lips, and long coal black hair that looked as if had been subjected to an electric shock.  
  
It looked at her, and gasped. It stepped back, scissors clicking nervously, and fell backwards onto the floor. Jane stopped screaming. The expression on its face looked more scared than she was.  
  
'Oh, gosh, I'm sorry,' she said, stepping towards it.  
  
It looked at her, its dark eyes lit with fear, and scurried back, digging its long claws into the floor.  
  
'Please, don't be afraid,' she pleaded, 'I w-was just shocked, that's all. ' It stopped, but it stilled eyed her with fear. She smiled weakly, and stepped towards it, 'I didn't expect to find anyone up here, who are you?' It didn't answer her, but seemed to relax very, very slightly. 'My name's Jane, but I prefer Jenny. Do you have a name? What are you called?'  
  
'Edward,' it said.  
  
********** 


	2. Sparks

Chapter 2 - Sparks.  
  
Named after the song by Royksopp, this chapter doesn't have too many sparks. I hope you like my offering. It's a lot longer, and I think it's better than the first. It doesn't read that well, but as I'm new to the genre, you're going to have to forgive me. I've written plenty before, it's just I always seem to regress when I move to a different genre, trying out all the things I would never do in another genre (and usually finding out why in the process).  
  
But otherwise, I think it's nice.  
  
**********  
  
Jane stepped towards Edward, and enquired, ' Do you live up here?'  
  
He nodded.  
  
'Are you all alone?' she asked.  
  
He nodded again. Jane leant over, and taking his wrists he helped him stand up. He looked at her with an expression somewhere between relief and apprehension. Jane looked at his face to see a fresh cut he had obtained when he fell over. She held up one of her hands and gently touched his face. He flinched, and clicked his razor sharp scissors, but Jane didn't even notice. 'You're bleeding,' she said.  
  
Edward looked at her as if he was ashamed. Jane looked him up and down. When you were this close to him, he didn't seem that frightening. The onyx coloured metal of his body was dull in the light of the storm. She smiled at him and opening her school bag remarked, 'I must have something for a cut.'  
  
As she knelt on the floor, Edward watched the way her wet, limp hair moved. He gave it a look of miscomprehension. Then, reaching towards her gently he snipped off a small piece of hair. She gasped, and quickly grabbing a tube out of her bag she said, 'Edward! '  
  
'I'm-I'm sorry.' He stuttered stepping back from her.  
  
'Look, I didn't mean to come into your home, you have every right to..' She stopped garbling, and ran to the door.  
  
She managed to get it to open with an ear piercing squeak, but before she could leave she heard a voice say, 'Don't go.'  
  
She turned around, and asked, 'I don't mean to be rude, but what happened to your hands?'  
  
He looked down at them, almost as if he didn't know what she meant. Then looking up he said, 'I'm not finished.'  
  
She looked at him, and flashing him a grin of relief and replied, 'Well, I think I'm going to have to stay here for the night. There's no way I can get home in this rain tonight.'  
  
There was a strange look on his face and if Jane hadn't have feel so afraid of him; she might have called it a smile. But replacing the bag on her back, she put the cream she had found in her bag in her pocket, and before he could notice she grabbed a compass from her pencil case, stuffing it into her jeans pocket.  
  
He raised one of his razor bladed hands and pointed at the rickety looking staircase and said, 'I sleep up there.'  
  
'Well,' she said, laughing nervously, 'I could sleep down here!'  
  
'No,' he urged, 'Sleep up there in the old bed.' He held out his razorblades, as if to ask her to hold his hand. Jane nervously held him by the wrist as he led her up the stairs. He led her up to the attic, where the roof had caved in. Rain poured through the broken roof, and didn't look that comfortable to sleep in. Jane wondered if Edward, as he called himself, knew that he shouldn't be sleeping in a room where the rain came in. He pointed again at what looked like a Hessian sack stuffed with straw in a fireplace. She walked towards it and looked at the pictures. They were all of people with hands, or doing something interesting with their hands. There was even a boy without eyes reading Braille there.  
  
Jane sat down on the sack, and lying down on it, gave Edward a quick look and said, 'Good night.'  
  
Edward gave her another slightly manic smile, and sat on the other side of the room, just under the roof. Jane fumbled for the light on her watch, and saw it was about nine o'clock at night. As some straw dug into her back, she wished she was back home. For one thing, she hadn't eaten since breakfast as she had left her lunch money in her bag at school, and later found that some joker had taken it. Another thing was that at least it would have been warmer than this. But most of all the way his big dark eyes stared at her made her feel nervous. If she had been at home, she wouldn't' have to go to bed for at least an hour, but right now, as rain poured down, all she could think about was sleep. She felt her stomach knot up with a pang of hunger, but kept her eyes on Edward at all times. She watched him for at least half an hour before she fell asleep, watching his deep, dark eyes gaze into her soul..  
  
*****  
  
It must have been late when she woke up again. The rain had stopped, and the world was cold and damp. She lifted her head gently from the bed and wondered if she should (or could) leave. She looked out to see if she could find Edward. She had, for whatever reason, thought that she would see Edward sitting exactly where he was, just asleep. Instead he was standing up, looking out of the gaping hole in the roof.  
  
He looked, in absence of a better word, rather forlorn in the moonlight. His blue purple lips were formed in a miserable pout, his skin seeming even whiter than it was before, as if any of the colour had been lost. His scissor fingers snapped dejectedly, as if they could express a sorrow he couldn't. Jane sat up, placing her feet on the wooden floor. Then, straining her hair backward with her small hands, she stepped onto the floor, each floorboard squeaking as she went. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and said gently, 'Hey Edward.'  
  
He turned around mechanically. He was crying. Jane looked at him, her mouth open a little. He looked at her through his watering dark eyes, and bit his lip. As Jane looked into his eyes, she could feel his pain. Sure, she didn't know what it was, but his eyes said more than she ever though eyes could. As she looked at him, all she could see in his eyes were tears of pain, of bereavement, of loss that she could not possibly understand. He sniped again, and turned away. Jane stepped towards him again, and asked, 'why are you crying?'  
  
Edward looked at her, as if weighing her up. Then, as if he knew something about her from the look of concern on her face he said, 'Tomorrow you're going to leave me.'  
  
'So?' she remarked unfeelingly, 'I'm not meant to be up here! I shouldn't have come up here. You're usually on your own, so why does it matter?'  
  
He let another tear role down his face, and his speech fractured between silent tears he said,' I don't want to be alone.'  
  
Jane looked at him uncomprehendingly.  
  
He looked her in her grey eyes and said, 'I've been alone for a while now, ever since they ran me out of town. '  
  
'Why did they do that?' she asked, 'Did you kill any one?'  
  
He shook his head and said, 'Jim didn't wake up. Like my father. They both went to sleep, and didn't wake up. '  
  
Jane pushed a stray strand of hair out of his face and asked, 'But you've been on your own for so long. ' He snipped his blades again but she continued saying, 'why don't you want me to go?'  
  
'I don't like being on my own.' He replied, tears running down his pail scarred face.  
  
Jane gazed into his eyes, her own heart breaking. How could she leave someone up her on their own? There couldn't be any food, no heating, what if he got sick? Or his cuts got infected? All those thoughts rushed through her head, but one main thought screamed out NO, YOU CAN'T HELP HIM! HE HAD KNIFES FOR HANDS! YOU'LL BE LUCKY TO SURVIVE THE NIGHT! But as she looked at his face, the little frown, the dark eyes, the pail skin covered in cuts and scars, she though, * If I leave tomorrow, I'll never know if he WAS alright, or if he's still around. If you leave, you'll never know if all this is real. * But another though in her head told her, *you can't stay up here forever, even if you wanted to, which you don't. * No, well, I suppose.now she came to think of it, the bizarre stranger in front of her didn't seem to bad. It was hard to imagine a monster crying, let alone being lonely.  
  
All of this rushed through her head before she said, 'I can't stay tomorrow, but.but..' She thought for a second. Did she know what she was getting herself into? What if he was a psycho or something? But if he was, she thought to herself, wouldn't see be dead already? And anyway, Edward couldn't look after himself. He didn't have hands; he didn't seem to have anything up here that made life easier to live, and she was sure that she was pretty much the first contact he had with the outside world for a long time. She decided what she had to do, what everything inside was telling her to do.'.. But I can come after school tomorrow, I promise. '  
  
Edward smiled. Jane, despite her tiredness, pulled a tissue out of her pocket, and wiped his eyes with it. She beamed stupidly at him, and said, ' do you sleep?'  
  
He nodded. He sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. Jane sighed and looked at the, in search of a better word, bed. She really didn't want to go back their. She wanted to talk to Edward. She wanted to know about him. He can't have talked to many people, and she wanted to know what she had got herself into. She slid down the wall, and asked, 'Edward, what happened to you?'  
  
*****  
  
This question continued all night. He told her. Everything. He told her how the professor had made him, he told her about when the professor died, and the time spent alone. This had been interrupted several times by Jane, who wanted to know every detail. But Edward persevered, answering her questions and continuing to when Peg Boggs had found him up here. He told her about being taken from the mansion to suburbia, where no one could be prepared for him. He talked about how he had been accepted, then rejected. He talked about a girl called Kim (although the only word he used to describe her was beautiful). He talked about a robbery she asked him to do, and then he talked about how he had run from town, and returned to his home here. All alone. He talked about how Kim never returned to see him, and how all he had done since she left was think of her and sculpt her in ice and want to return to the world he had been discarded from.  
  
And strangely enough, she had listened. She listened about when he had first arrived, excited and full of wonder, she had heard about the incident in the salon and she had heard about why Jim 'hadn't woken up.' As she listened, she felt uncomfortably close to him. She felt as if she could understand what he had been through, even though she couldn't. She had never had the chance to be accepted, let alone have it thrown back at her. She didn't have a talent and even if she did, no one wanted to know about it. All she felt as she listened to his story was compassion. Complete compassion for the way he spoke, for the story he told. As the story went on, Edward had place a gentle knife-like claw around her neck, and she had lent on his shoulder. Even later, as he got up to the bit about the mob, he had placed another hand around her, but not for one second had she felt scared. As she listened to his innocence and naivety, she couldn't ever belief that he would ever use his claws to hurt people. Even when she heard about Jim, she knew that it was self-defence, and by that time she knew that he had it coming to him. It was just a pity that he had to be the one to do it.  
  
Even later, both of them had fallen asleep, Jane leaning her head on Edward, as he held her gently to his cold chest. Sunrise softly crept up on the two people sleeping together, almost as if it didn't want to rise over the two of them, waking them up from this blissful situation. But the sun had to rise, and as weak morning sunlight skulked over them, Jane woke up. Blinking delicately in the bright light, she remembered where she was, and why. She took Edward's arm off her, and moving the blades away, stood up after a few tries. Jane didn't know whether or not to leave a note or not, but in the end, after seeing that it was seven o'clock in the morning, she decided to wake him.  
  
Shaking him softly, he woke up; his black eyes springing open like a Doll's. He held out a hand, which Jane swiftly avoided. 'Edward, it's just me,' she said, 'I just thought I should say that I'm leaving, but I promise I'll be back. I'll bring some food this time, maybe some antiseptic for your cuts.' she ran a finger along a cut, which made him look uncomfortable, and snip like crazy. Jane stopped it and said, 'Please Edward, I'll be back.'  
  
Edward, fixing her with an innocent gaze, nodded as if to say, * I understand. * She smiled. It was more than she could have hoped for. She wasn't lying. Even as she walked down the steps, she wanted to ask him more questions. She wanted to know more about his life in town, more about the inventor, more about everything he had talked about. All she wanted to do was return, but she couldn't. She had to go to school, she had to go home, but all she could think about as she left, closing the heavy gothic wooden portal behind her was the man inside, the man who had no hands, but scissors. The man, who could have killed her on the spot, but didn't.  
  
She walked through the garden, enjoying the fruit of Edward's handiwork. Just one night, just one night with him, afraid for her life and terrified, she had learned how gently a blade could be. There was a man behind the hands, a man who had made a loch ness monster out of a bush. As she walked out the gate, she felt as if she had lost something up there. She ignored the feeling, and walked down the hill.  
Back in town, a search party of police looking for her met her. Her parents had got very worried when she hadn't come home, and had phoned the police to look for her. The gave Jane a lift back home, where she was greeted by her mother with lots of hugging and kissed, while her father, stand-offish of course, had shook her hand, and gave her a lecture. Her mother joined in with the lecture as well. Jane wasn't listening. She was thinking about Edward. It was like she had seem something in him she had to see again, just to know if it was real, and not something brought on by the cold. She knew the old stories about him, and she knew his side, but something in her was still denying that it had ever existed. ]  
  
After her parents had finished with the lecture, Jane had returned to school, but made sure to make an excuse about coming home late again. She had to be more careful. She couldn't be late again for a long while.  
  
******  
  
Ahh....home. Please R and R an old fool! 


	3. If I cry out in fear……

Chapter 3 -If I cry out in fear..  
  
The title for this chapter comes from the song Wonder - by Embrace. I may reference it a lot now. The full line is "If I cry out if fear, I'll feel more afraid." I like the song at the mo, and as I appear to be naming all my chapters after song names, bands or lines, I thought I would continue it.  
  
I have re - watched ES, and although there is no lever in the movies, will you, when you get to that part, please accept that there is, just for the sake of argument.  
  
I may also not be able to update for a month because my mums threatening to cut off the Internet. I don't know if its an empty threat or not, but apart from trying to upload it at my library, I'll keep it going until I can update it regularly.  
  
******  
  
It is extremely hard to concentrate on a maths lesson when your mind keeps on wondering to the mansion on the hill you can see out of the window. The maths teacher droned on as Jane watched birds fly overhead and tried to see if she could see Edward in the house. She blinked, and didn't listen as he told her about the joys of volumes and surface areas. She didn't listen as some cheerleaders at the back started to giggle and laugh at her because she sat so still, just watching out of the window. She hardly noticed that the notepad she usually kept hidden under her other schoolbooks was slowly becoming filled up with a sketch of Edwards face, although slightly changed from memory and the bad light she had seen it in.  
  
She had managed to get her hands on some stuff before she left the house. She had taken her little radio and a First Aid Kit her dad kept under the sink and crammed them into her bag quickly. She had them in her bag right now and debated whether she should get them out or not. Probably not. She felt the room get still as the teachers sonorous, monotonous voice drilling into her brain. She felt her body start to freeze up, and the sketching slowing down.  
  
Then to break the pure stillness, she moved her head to look down at her watch. Why was time moving so slowly? She wanted to get out of here! She couldn't wait to leave, couldn't wait to run to that house, and walk through the wonderfully fantastic garden to see.to see a man with no hands, but scissors. She couldn't wait to see Edward. Jane, although she didn't look it to a casual observer, felt shivers of excitement. Edward by most standards wasn't a very articulate person and neither was he incredibly intelligent, although to be honest she couldn't really tell, but something, something about him made her want to return. There was something about his sullen face with the deep dark eyes like muddy pools of water that made her want to go back, just to find out if it was real.  
  
As she looked out the window, she swore she saw something moving in the garden, but it could have just have been a bird. Jane gazed out, trying to work out if she had been mistaken, when something woke her up out of her dream state.  
  
'Jane, what did I just say?' asked the Math's teacher.  
  
Jane looked up, startled, much to the amusement to everyone else. 'I dunno sir.' She said. The class laughed at her. She went red, and stared at her desk so she wouldn't have to see anyone's face.  
  
The teacher sighed and said, 'If you had been listening to me Jane, you would have know that that I was asking you how to work out this question.' He pointed to the board. Jane looked at it and before she could give an answer he said, 'but as you haven't been listening all lesson, I suppose you wouldn't mind me showing the class what you have been concentrating on?' Jane only had half a second to react. She slid the notebook under the table, but the teacher saw it, and grabbing it ripped the page in half. Her mouth fell open as about an hours work went to waste, but at least no one could see the picture properly.  
  
The teacher, giving up, threw the picture in the bin. 'I'll see you after class Jane, ' he said. Some of the class jeered at her, and a ball of paper hit her round the back of the head. 'Quieten down, quieten down,' muttered the teacher under his breath.  
  
'Oh, Plain Jane's in trouble!' shouted a jock at the back of the class.  
  
'Yeah, you should be ashamed for yourself!' another shouted, before he couldn't talk because of his laughter.  
  
'Danny, Jim, stop it!' said the teacher. The bell rang, and the class started to pack away. 'Right class, do exercise thirty two - five, page one hundred and twenty four.' As Jane shuffled out of the classroom, he shouted, 'Jane, come back here.'  
  
Jane, if she hadn't been so embarrassed, or if she hadn't felt so defiant, or if she didn't have anyone else to meet, she would have stayed, but she didn't. She rushed out, carrying her maths books under her arms.  
  
The teacher ran out into the corridor. 'JANE!' he yelled.  
  
Jane didn't listen. She ran on, pushing past everyone in the crowd, knowing that many of them were jeering at her. She ran out of the school, past the rows of houses, and then she ran all the way to the foot of the mountain. She looked behind her, as if wondering whether she should go up there. It had been all she had thought about all day, returning to the garden, returning to the old house, going back to see Edward... Only out of fascination of course.. As she climbed up the hillside her mind wondered to the people at school. What would they think, Jane 'ice maiden' Parsons going up a mountain to see a man? But none of them would be able to understand why she would be going to see him.  
  
She was glad that the climb was pretty short. She walked into the garden, and passing all the topiaries and flowers, she opened the door to the house.  
  
She walked in, the door closing behind her. She looked around the foyer, looking for him. She hoped that yesterday wasn't some strange dream she had for whatever reason. She hoped that maybe it was real. Her heart sank, as she heard nothing but her own footsteps echoing in the old house. She sighed, making the butterflies in her stomach flutter like crazy. Then she felt cold steel gently perch upon her shoulder.  
  
Jane screamed. Then, realising who it was, she stopped, turning around. Edward stood there, looking even more scared than she was, his blades interlocked in a vaguely half-terrified, half embarrassed way. Jane gasped and said, 'Oh Edward, I didn't know it was you...'  
  
'I'm sorry,' he whispered, his eyes looking away. She saw the blades rubbing together nervously as he seemed to realise what he had done was wrong.  
  
Jane smiled, a little painfully, and said, ' No, no Edward, you just gave me a little shock, that's all..' he looked at her a little scared, like a child who's teacher had just shouted at him. Jane stepped towards him, and in response he stepped back. 'Don't worry..' she whispered reassuringly, ' Edward, I'm..do you want me to go?'  
  
He looked down at the floor, unlocking his scissors and shook his head slowly.  
  
Jane smiled again and said, 'I got you a few things, just to make it a little more interesting up here.' She walked towards the machinery on the other side of the foyer (okay, I got the house mixed up at the start, but I'm correcting my mistake now.), and signalling to Edward to follow, sat down on one of the conveyer belts. Edward stood up, waiting for her. She slipped the bag off her back, and opened it. After a few seconds of rummaging through she brought out a radio. Edward looked at it strangely.  
  
Holding in her hand like it were a jewel, she said, 'It's a radio. It plays music and adverts and occasionally someone called DJ started to talk about nonsense. You have to ignore them, but the music's pretty good. ' She placed it on the conveyer belt, and flicked a switch to show him how it worked. He looked at it like a quizzical dog, but Jane smiled, and continued to rummage through her bag. Bringing out English books and maths books she finally found The First Aid Kit. Then, putting the books away, and indicating to him to sit down, he did, clicking his blades and locking them together.  
  
'Okay Edward, I'm just going to put some antiseptic on your cuts,' she said, pouring the acid smelling liquid on a piece of cotton wool. Then, as she applied it he jerked away, frightened, razors clicking like crazy. Jane looked down at the cotton wool and said apologetically, 'Edward, it stings a bit, but I promise it will help your cuts, its so bacteria don't get into it and grow.' Edward eyed her dubiously. Then Jane put it against her own skin. 'Look, it doesn't hurt.' She remarked, trying to prove her point.  
  
She put a little more antiseptic on the piece of cotton wool and then tried putting against his skin. He stood completely still, his face a picture of pure terror as he snipped each time she used it on his skin. Jane ignored it, until she was content that it was all over. 'See?' she asked, 'doesn't it feel better now?'  
  
Edward looked her in the eye, fixing her with a look that said plainly that it did not. Jane laughed at his expression and putting the bottle down on the conveyer belt, she gently touched his face. He winced, sniped nervously, but didn't finch. Jane, standing up, couldn't help stroking the scar down his right eye. He looked nervously into her face, not understanding as she whispered, ' who could leave you here? How could let you hurt yourself like this?'  
  
There eyes met for a second, but he looked away, like he were ashamed, his mouth in the tight little pout it would go in when he was scared. Jane looked away, and looked down at her watch. 'Jeez, I think I better get going. I'll see you tommoro...' As she walked, she fell over a lever, which creaked sideways. Before either of then knew it, an ancient generator buzzed into life, and, coughing and spluttering like an asthmatic, the previously inanimate convey belt juddered to a start, and the machines hanging up above the metal belt started to jerk to life. Jane, looking around gasped. Edward went right over to her, and held out his hand to help her up. Smiling, a little out of embarrassment, she declined the offer, and stood right up.  
  
Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a clamp on a long arm swung around. Jane would have been knocked out of she hadn't have jumped out of the way in time. Edward didn't seem fazed by this at all. Instead, he smiled. Jane looked at him, startled, but then went back to the machine. The little clamp had a hammer on it, which now swung down to hit whatever would have been in the clamp on the head. The clamp opened, and the bowl on the belt moved forward. Then, on a spring, it moved forward and a whisker went into bowl, mixing around the invisible ingredients. Jane stepped, following the machine. A hand swung out, knocking the bowl over, the dust inside making a fine pastry. Then, going though the rollers, more metal people with shape cutters for feet made patterns in the dust. Jane gasped with excitement while Edward followed her steps.  
  
Then, into the oven that gasped and wheezed like it had done a mile run, the dust went and lay forgotten about as Jane turned around to Edward and said, 'Edward.......Edward.......' his face was alight with childish delight. She didn't understand why, but he seemed to have sensed some great news. 'Edward....what is it?' she asked, herself feeling excited. It had to be something big to get him as excited as this.  
  
'My father,' he said, hands snipping excitedly, ' he's going to come back! He's going to wake up!'  
  
Jane, not understanding gasped and exclaimed, 'Oh my God! How do you know!'  
  
'The last time the cookie machine was on, my father was awake.' He said, his face spitting into a smile his face couldn't contain.  
  
'Edward, that's great!' she said, her mind not realising what he meant, 'do you think he'll be back soon?'  
  
'He never left the cookie machine on without watching it,' replied Edward, 'in case something happened.'  
  
'Well, I can stay here for a while,' she said with a sigh, 'I'll wait with you for a bit. ' Edward's grin seemed to get even bigger, 'but only for a short while. ' She reminded him, 'I have to go home sometime.'  
  
Edward hugged her, scissors going around her body. Jane suddenly went very still. Edward looked down at her, and the razors that crossed around her body from his wrists. He let go, looking a little scared, but while only a day ago she would have run, she stayed, and embraced his onyx black body gently, resting her head on his shoulder. He patted her small hand with the palm of his, and they stayed like that for a long while. Long enough to make the difference.  
  
*****  
  
When Jane got home, she was met with her parents.  
  
'Jane, what time do you call this?' demanded her father.  
  
'Look, I'm sorry...'  
  
'Ten minutes late!' he exclaimed, 'Ten minutes! You promised that if we let you go to that drama club, you'd be home on time.'  
  
'Dad!' she moaned, her stomach knotting as she remembered the lie, 'They overran..'  
  
'If they overrun, you phone us! That's the rule young lady!' he exclaimed.  
  
She tried to respond, but she didn't as she realised that it would lead to a fight. She shook her head and said, 'sorry dad.....'  
  
He sighed and said, 'don't do it again sport, okay. Your Mom's worried about you.'  
  
Jane looked at him and flashed him a brittle grin. If he had found out she was with a boy, even a boy (or more likely, especially) like Edward, she would have been in trouble. But he was no stricter than any of the other fathers in town, but she was less willing to disobey him and being shy and awkward made her easy prey to others.  
  
Jane went back to her room, and taking out her books realised she had left the first Aid Kit up there. Oh well, she thought to herself, it was a good excuse to return.  
  
Later that night she went to bed and dreamed not of hunky models or of flying pigs, but of scissors and snow.  
  
*********  
  
Thank you for reading! Please could you review me, just to tell me where I'm going wrong, or how you'd like the plot to go? I have to choices in my mind, and I can't chose. Should I go down the path where the story is very simple, or should I try my hand at going a little more dreamlike and avoid reality later on.  
  
Tell me what you think.  
  
Thank you. 


	4. Makes no difference to me

Chapter 4 - Makes no difference to me.  
  
Inspired by Sun 41's (yes, I know..) Makes no diference. Okay, not much Edward in this chapter, but this relates to a further point in the plot later. Also, you make notice the name of one of the characters relates directly to the film in two ways. It's because I'm not inventive enough to come up with anything interesting.  
  
The Metaphysicist's (or Ysabelle and Homer) are an original creation. More info about them can be found under my pen name at fictionpress.net, but don't worry. All you need to know is in this chapter. More will be explained as it goes on. This chapter DOES have reference to all the others; it's just a good way to introduce them, okay?  
  
Also, this chapter makes reference to Randle and Hopkirk deceased (the new version), Spaced series two, D101, Red Dwarf and of course, my own story My Liberty Dearer (but you don't need to read. You find out all you need to know as it goes on.) There are probably more references apart from ES that I haven't mentioned, but feel free to try and guess each reference.  
  
Note - SLIGHT CUSSING AND SUGGESTED VIOLENCE  
  
If you think I should bring a more dream like quality to my work, please say. Thank you.  
  
**********  
  
Even later, if you travelled across the continent of America, across the Atlantic Ocean to a small Island near Europe and then down to the east to a small but packed City called London, and then to a place called Central London, you'd find that the city of a thousands musicals, museums and clubs and seems to live on caffeine very quiet. A few people stumble out of a bar as the bouncers push them out, a few dodgy mini cabs crawl around in the dark and a few homeless people sleep in shop doorways, but apart from them, there are no living souls out.  
  
Except two.  
  
At this precise moment, if you looked over at the titled roof of the Sputter Street Theatre you would see two figures, dressed in black. If you went in closer you would see that they were both climbing up to the roof. If then, you cared to listen in to what they were saying, you would hear a voice cursing under its breath and the second figure hissing, 'shut up!'  
  
The second, smaller figure said, 'This goddamn roof is dangerous!' The figures foot aliped, and it fell onto the roof with a loud 'offfh!'  
  
'Careful Ys, you don't want to fall off the roof' said the figure.  
  
'Of course I don't!' said the smaller figure in a remarkably high-pitched voice, ' It's bloody forty foot from the ground!'  
  
'Oi, less cursing from you!' exclaimed the other figure. Then sighing he said, 'Young people these days...'  
  
'Homer, this isn't like I don't have a reason to swear!' complained the smaller figure called Ysabelle.  
  
'We can talk this over when we're at the top.' The figure called Homer replied, 'but at the moment you probably should concentrate on finding a hand hold.'  
  
The figure called Ysabelle resisted the urge to scream as she slipped again, and finally grabbed onto the ridge. She pulled herself up and sat on it as she waited for Homer to catch up. Homer soon grabbed onto the ridge, jumped up and balanced himself perilously on it. Then he pulled off the black balaclava and wiped his face with the sleeve of his outfit. Homer was a middle-aged man, in the broadest sense of the phrase, with his brown hair flicked with grey streaks. His glassy brown green eyes were deep like the greater depths of the sea and his face was tanned slightly. His face was focused and serious, looking almost sculpted with the lines of age. It was the kind of face that looked like the owner should have been smoking some sort of tobacco product. At this moment he reached into his pocket and brought out a piece of gum.  
  
'I thought you smoked those horrible black cigars.' Said Ysabelle.  
  
'Not any more,' said Homer with a sigh,' The Doctor told me not to. He said he wasn't prepared to replace my lungs again.'  
  
Ysabelle looked away, but took off her own Balaclava. She shook out her tightly platted gold brown hair, tied with black ribbons. She was thin. Thin in a way that was less thin, than skeletal. She had long arms and a long, white neck. She had freckles that blemished the white skin that was almost as pale as Edward's. Her lips were light pink with a healthy glow, but her face was virgin of make up. She did have bags under her eyes, which suggested that she had been subjected to a few late nights. She rolled up her sleeves to reveal bulky bandages wrapped around her arms.  
  
Ysabelle smiled and said, 'So, recap - what the hell are we doing?'  
  
'We've been sent to meet our contact.'  
  
'Anything else?' she asked.  
  
'No, just to meet him.'  
  
'So why are we on this roof?' she asked.  
  
'So we can get a good view of the city.'  
  
'So what's the contact called?'  
  
'Price. Johnny Price.'  
  
'And we are meeting him for...'  
  
'Ysabelle!' snapped Homer, 'Do you ever listen?'  
  
'Yes!' she replied, 'Just not to a word that any of THEM says. So we're meeting him to..'  
  
'We're meeting him to get information about building androids!' exclaimed Homer, 'Look, we went over this..'  
  
'I know, I know....' she said,' But I still don't get it. I mean are we just getting info about how to build an independent brain, or is it about all the new organs we're going to need?'  
  
'Both.' Said Homer.  
  
They sat quiet for a moment, watching the lethargic city. Ysabelle looked over the city for a moment pensively and asked, 'I suppose they sent him AIDA.'  
  
'About a month ago.' Said Homer. He reached up to his mouth as if to put a cigar in, but stop as he realised he didn't have a cigar in his hand.  
  
They sat quietly, not talking to one another. Ysabelle pretended not to notice Homer forgetting about not having any cigars, and stared across the big city. She had given up everything to leave this dirty city, but from up here, it looked good. The lights shone like bright stars and the sound of the city cooling down was hypnotic. All Ysabelle could here was the sound of a group of young people walked thought an ally way. They kept quiet until they saw a young woman walk past. They saw one of the young people go up to her and ask her for a cigarette. She refused, and then one of them brought out a knife.  
  
Ysabelle sat up and murmured, 'what the...' As the group of young people pushed the woman against a wall and started to shouted, she said,' Homer, look!'  
  
Homer looked and said, 'I know.' She looked him in the eye and he suddenly said, 'No. Just no. We're not going down..'  
  
Ysabelle tied the rope slung to her back to the ridge, and clipped herself to it. Before Homer could do anything, she grabbed onto the rope, and looking Homer right in the face whispered, 'I have to do something.' started to skid down the tiles, which came lose and feel down to the ground. 'YSABELLE!' he shouted, shocked and scared, but she didn't listen to him. Sighing, he tied his rope to the ridge and started to climb down.  
  
Ysabelle ab-sailed down the wall so fast that the wind blew her plated hair up. As she sailed down, a falling tile almost knocked one of the gang out. The looked up and saw black hangover heading towards them. As she reached the ground, the astonished gang looked at her. She unclipped herself and said, 'Go away! Leave her alone or I'll phone the police.'  
  
The gang looked at her before they started to laugh. Then the leader stepped up to her, but this was not impressive as he was about an inch shorter than her. 'And what're going to do little girl?' he asked.  
  
'I'm not little!' she exclaimed, 'I'm nearly fourteen! And taller than you.'  
  
The gang burst out into another gale of laughter. The leader, smiling, took out his flick knife and said, 'I don't care how old you are little girl, but you're dead.'  
  
He started to advance on her. She grinned inanely and said, 'look buddy, I'm already dead, been there, done that, bought the tee shirt, but you probably don't wanna try to kill me...'  
  
'Why not?' he asked.  
  
'This is such a cliché, ' she giggled nervously, 'but look behind you.' The man did so, and was hit in the face by Homers speedily advancing boot. Homer unclipped himself and looked at the gang. They dropped the girl they were about to mug, and stared at them.  
  
'Ysabelle, I think we should......'  
  
'They're only about fourteen!' said Ysabelle, reaching to her belt.  
  
'But look at them!' said Homer, his voice going up in pitch.  
  
'They're my age!' hollered Ysabelle. Then as she looked at them again she turned to him and said, 'what do you think we should do?'  
  
Homer looked down at her hands. She looked him in the face, and began to reach for her belt again. 'Lets give it to them Ys.' He said, reaching into his coat. They both stared right into the gangs face before Homer's face of determination changed and he grabbed Ysabelle's wrist.  
  
'Change of plan!' he whispered. He breathed in and hollered 'LEEGGGGG IIIIITTTTTTTTT!'  
  
The two of them turned on their heels and ran down alleyways and streets as the gang started to pursue them. Homer guided Ysabelle through the streets and to her surprise knew where he was going.  
  
'Where are we going?' Ysabelle yelled.  
  
'To meet our contact!' replied Homer.  
  
'I thought.....'  
  
'You thought wrong!' Homer bellowed.  
  
'You could've just bought a street map!' Ysabelle replied, 'Like anyone else!'  
  
Homer looked over his shoulder and said, 'less talk, more running!' They ran down a dank ally full of puddles and old bins full of the indigestible remains of curry from the local Indian restaurants. Their footsteps echoed around the side street as they splashed through puddles. Homer pushed over a bin to slow down their pursuers and disappeared as they ran into the street.  
  
As the gang reached the end, they looked puzzled. How could two people go into a street, but not come out? They milled around a bit before Homer and Ysabelle crept from behind a wall to the end of the street. Then one of the gang saw them.  
  
'That way!' he yelled as they chased them.  
  
Homer and Ysabelle were panicking as they saw a man waiting next to a car outside a closed down Chinese restaurant. Homer's eyes widened and shouted 'start the car!'  
  
'What?' asked the man.  
  
'Don't ask questions!' shrieked Ysabelle, 'Just start the car!'  
  
The man looked at them, and got in. Homer and Ysabelle tore down the road and when they reached the car they grabbed the doors slamming them shut. The man was about to turn around as he said, 'you with the metaphysicists....'  
  
'YES!' screamed Ysabelle, 'START THE CAR!' The man slammed his foot on the accelerator and skidded off down the road, leaving the street gang behind. Ysabelle and Homer sat in the car for a minuet, breathing heavily before Ysabelle finally said, 'Please, please, please say your name is Johnny Price.'  
  
'Yeah.' He replied, keeping his eyes on the road.  
  
'Thank you god!' she said, raising her arms before collapsing again.  
  
'So, you guys were my contacts...' said Johnny, 'what the hell were you doing?'  
  
'Being chased by a street gang apparently.' Said Homer, 'Ysabelle managed to get us involved in a fight.'  
  
'They were about to mug some woman' she gasped, ' You couldn't just let that happen!'  
  
'Yes we could!' exclaimed Homer, 'we were nearly killed!'  
  
'Look, you can tell me when we get home,' said Johnny, 'but first of all, are you from the Metaphysicists?'  
  
'Yeah' sighed Ysabelle,' the best they could spare at the time.' Then leaning over to Homer she said, 'how on earth did you know he was our contact?'  
  
'He wore a big hat covering his eyes and a trench coat, obvious.' Said Homer sighing, 'Looked like a typical contact. Anyone could spot him a mile off.'  
  
Johnny smiled as he stopped at a traffic light. 'I thought I looked kinda dashing.'  
  
'No, you just looked like a stereotype. There's a difference.' Said Homer.  
  
Johnny took of his hat, putting it on the passenger seat, and turning around to them said, 'Maybe I should've just worn my normal clothes.' he said, as he turned into a drive of a tall, old looking black townhouse. He got out of the car. Ysabelle and Homer waited as he opened the car door.  
  
'C'mon,' he said, 'we're home. We can have some hot coco and cookies.' Johnny Price brushed his long, combed back, black hair out of his deep brown eyes with his slim hands.....  
  
*****  
  
'EDWARD!!!?????'  
  
Jane sat bolt upright in bed as she tried to recover from the dream. Now, that one was weird. A street gang was chasing her in London and Edward was driving a car. But as she breathed out, she realised it was Edward, but wasn't. For one thing, he had hands, but there was more different. His black hair looked kempt and clean, his face unscarred and his clothes were very, very different. It wasn't the black metal, but he looked....well....more human.  
  
Jane looked at the clock next to her bed, and realised that she had to get up now. She thought about what Edward had said. His father was probably going to come back today. She smiled to herself, and felt better for the thought that when she saw him again, that there would be someone else to look after him. Someone to care for him. Jane smiled. She couldn't wait to seem him again. She wouldn't be able to concentrate at all today, and she had physics as well! She needed to be able to understand physics so she didn't flunk school, but every second before she saw him again would burn like a slow fire in her head.  
  
She wondered whether she should tell him about the dream, but through against it. It probably meant nothing, and it would just confuse him. She said aloud 'Edward, you know how to get a girl hooked.'  
  
**********  
If you watch the movie close enough, you'll see that Edwards hair in the flashback looked like he combed it, but in the others it didn't. Think of Edward before the Inventor died for Johnny Price, and with slightly more tanned skin. Johnny Price will get more and more important as the story goes on. You can probably guess why.  
  
Thanks for reading. Please review! 


	5. Believe me now, i'd only lie to you

Chapter 5 - Believe me now, I'd only lie to you.  
  
This name is from Haven - Say Something. A very nice song. Do forgive the badness of this notes section because it is very late when I've finished this. But there are notes!  
  
1/ yes, I know that there's a lack of Edward in this chapter as well, but if it helps, it is ABOUT him, even if he doesn't appear (other than as Johnny Price, which will get explained later)  
  
2/ Johnny reveals his past and most of the plot at the same time. Oh dear...  
  
3/ He also makes a reference to one version of Frankenstein that I read when I was 11. It was a script for a theatre, and wasn't that scary.  
  
4/ I didn't exactly get the relationship between Homer and Ysabelle right, but they were like this because they were very tired. Or at least that's my excuse.  
  
**********  
  
Last lesson of the day was Physics, and Jane suspected that the teacher didn't even try to make it interesting. Jane fidgeted, trying to make time go faster. She stared at the clock. Ten more minutes. The teacher droned on, the classroom heating up like an oven, making her feel like an oven ready turkey. She found her eyelids dropping. The dream she had last night kept repeating in her mind, and she found herself doodling the girl in her dream. She made a quick sketch of her body, little more than a pencil skeleton, but she soon began to pen in the bandages around her arms, and penned in the face. It looked a little different than in her dream. The expression was of hopeless goodwill, mixed with a little shyness. She felt as if she had introduced herself to the character for the first time.  
  
She ignored her thought, and turned back a page in her rough book. There were more doodles of Edward on the lined pages, some about his hair, the way it stuck up, while others were about the pouting small lips, which were almost black in colour. But many, so many were of his eyes. The brown eyes with so much more depth and dare she say it, expression than any she had ever seen before in her life. Even this poor reproduction of them made her want to see them again. It was almost as if each time she saw him, it made it harder to leave him because each time she left him, she wanted to make sure he was really real, not some dream send to torture her.  
  
She looked up at the clock. Nine minutes. She sighed, and looked around at the class. They all looked half asleep, fully asleep in a few cases, all ready to pack up and go. Jane sighed, and tried to interest herself in what the teacher was saying.  
  
'So when a hydrogen atom expels an electron from the nucleus.....' bored. So bored. Nothing he could say could interest her. She fidgeted again, the clock seeming to slow down just to make the wait longer for her. She looked at her bag, seeing the supplies she had brought this time. She had brought the ingredients to make cookies because she wasn't sure if Edwards father had anything if he was....suddenly cold fear dropped down her spine.  
  
She had turned on the machine. Edward had told her that his father hadn't woken up. She knew about sleep (having done so in previous Physics' lessons), and you didn't sleep for that long unless you were sleeping beauty. She felt herself grow cold as she realised that he wasn't alive. He wouldn't be coming for him, and he would be alone. Jane wasn't sure if he understood what death was. Maybe that's why he had said he was asleep...  
  
No, it couldn't be, it shouldn't be true! But the more Jane thought about it, the more it seemed to be so. Why would anyone leave someone without hands on their own if they were responsible? Why wouldn't they return, why, if they had loved them, would they leave and never come back? Unless it was the eternal journey, she thought to herself darkly. Jane mentally slapped herself and thought, ~ no, don't panic. Maybe Edwards father will be back, maybe he won't, but remember, you're the only one who knows he alive, and therefore you have to go back, make sure he's okay~  
  
~He's old enough to look after himself, ~ snapped a voice in her head.  
  
~Maybe he is~ replied the other voice curtly, ~ but he should have been taken here ages ago.~  
  
~Are you stupid?~ retorted another voice in her head which was different to the others, ~ Look at you! You're normal, but you're a reject. Edward wouldn't last five minutes..~  
  
~He did before. ~ Said one of the other voices.  
  
~Yes, and look what happened to him~ sneered the voice, ~ chased out by the very people who were supposed to look after him. Face facts Jane, but even you know that it'll just happened again, just like before.~  
  
~But. But....~ Jane had no answer. She didn't know what to do. She knew she had to do something about Edward, but then she wanted to help him, not get him shot at or chased out of town. In other words she wanted to help him rather than hurt him, even if it was unintentionally.  
  
She looked at the clock. Seven minutes. She wrung her hands nervously, her stomach twisting. When would that dratted bell go! She just wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. Her gaze fixed on the small clock in the corner, grubby and old, the big hand almost falling off. Each second dragged out perpetuity, like it was tired out. The clock seemed as tired as she felt; ticking away slowly, like it was too old to tick away fast like the younger clocks at the school. She knew that they had left the old clock in here because the teacher knew that the pupils spent most of the lesson looking at it rather than listening to the teacher.  
  
'......And so Gamma rays are electromagnetic transverse waves......' continued the teacher in a voice that would have irked even the most science minded person who ever existed.  
  
The clock, she thought, hoping it would be an escape. Five minutes. Jane picked up her pencil and holding it between her thumb and forefinger vibrated it as she thought of how she could spend four minutes before the bell went. She stared up at the teacher as she remembered that he would probably give her homework that night. Sighing loudly she fidgeted in her seat again and hoped that time would move as fast as it seemed to when she had visited Edward. Time seemed to slip through her fingers as if it were water, disappearing forever; making her wish it was back again. But like all good things, it only came once, no matter how much she wanted it back.......wait, she'd only met him twice! She sounded like she had known him for ages, but it had only been two times, even if the first was a night alone with him. It still astonished her to think that because she felt like she had known him forever. Although she did think that she sounded like a romantic fool, it was like she had known him forever, knew him exactly, but before she hadn't had a name or a picture to put the story to. And then it stood in front of her. Everything started to make sense.  
  
Running her hand through her hair, Jane looked back up at the clock. Just one more minute to go. The seconds ticked by faster, like a sprinter who could see the end of the track. 3.....2.......1.........BBRRINNNNNNNNNNG!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Jane shoved her books in her bag and pushing through the crowds, ran. She ran right out of the gates of the school, leaving behind everyone and everything, and reduced her speed to a brisk walk, occasionally punctuated with bursts of speed, her mind more willing to get there than her body. Finally, reaching the top of the mountain she walked into the garden, admiring the inane beauty. She smiled to herself as she saw that it had been pruned today. But as her thoughts went to the garden, they also went to the gardener, and her heart sunk. How on earth could she explain this to him? Why should she explain it to him? Why did SHE have to do it? She wasn't any good with that stuff.  
  
Listening to the clanking of machinery from inside the house, she sighed. She wasn't sure if she should go in or not, being the bearer of bad news. She stood at the door, pondering this for a full ten seconds before she threw her caution to the wind, throwing it open.......  
  
*****  
.......Carrying a tray of cookies and a pot of hot chocolate. The drawing room in Johnny's house was not typically, suburban, but otherwise quiet nice if you ignored all the android and mechanical parts adorning virtually every flat surface, including the floor. Homer and Ysabelle sat on the sofa, looking a little uncomfortable as the two of them swept nuts and bolts off the terracotta couch. Homer put a hand under the seat, and pulled out a metal shinbone. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it with an expression that dangled precariously between being impressed and being rather disturbed. Instead, he just looked confused. Johnny put the tray on the table, (pushing off a metal hand) and grabbed the metal bone out of Homer's unresisting hands.  
  
'I wondered where that had gone...' he remarked, and tucked it into the armchair he sat on. He lent forward, giving them each a mismatched cup, and rose as he poured out a cup of the steaming hot coco for Ysabelle, seating himself again to pour one out for Homer. Ysabelle smiled at him, and took a sip. Johnny himself reached for a man shaped cookie, taking a small plate and a napkin, allowing the centre fold to remain. He bit one of the arms off first, while Ysabelle looked at the plate of cookies.  
  
'Oh, please have one.....' said Johnny.  
  
'No,' Ysabelle laughed, ' We can't, we have to look after our bodies....'  
  
'Yis, Go on,' said Homer, 'as my bodies practically worn out I have to keep an eye on it, but you're young. The Doctor can't expect you not to live a little before you get older.'  
  
Ysabelle gave him a look in search of his approval. Homer flashed her a crooked grin, and she smiled with relief before taking a cookie, and eating it gratefully. Johnny smiled. Then, speaking with her mouth full Ysabelle said, 'I can't believe you're feeding us at, like, two in the morning, but may I ask you a question?'  
  
'Sure,' said Johnny, sitting back.  
  
'Well, I've been listening to your voice, and although at first listening I would say it was middle class English, I can pick up a hint of American. Now, I know it's from the south, and that its near the Bible belt, but where did you come from before you came to England?'  
  
Johnny sat up, and with a grin said to Homer, 'is she always this smart?'  
  
Homer raised an eyebrow and remarked, 'pretty much, yes.'  
  
Johnny looked at the floor, and wringing his hands together said, 'I was raised in America, yes, by my adoptive father. An inventor, would you believe? We got on well until I got hormones and we had a big bust up. I left home when I was eighteen, went to England, hoping for career options like working for Austin Martins. Dad said I should become an inventor like him, but I was young, headstrong. I did get a job at Austin Martins, but I quit ten years ago, became an inventor, like my old man. But I never let him know about that. He still wrote letters to me, trying to get me to return.....'  
  
'But back to business,' said Homer, putting his cup on the table, 'you sent for us, and obviously those above us have a reason to send us out. What I heard is that you can get us information about androids and AI that we haven't got. But I also know that everything has a price, especially information. '  
  
'....That leads me back to the letters.' said Johnny, pushing a lock of the long black hair out of his face,' I don't know most of the information you want, but my father, my father before he died send me a series of letter telling me about a.....a.....machine he built. He never referred to it as a machine, but as Edward and He. My father said he wanted me to come back and work on it with him, but like the fool I am, I didn't go back. He says that the machine has an independent imaginative brain. But I know that it wasn't finished. He wrote me the last letter fifteen years ago, in 1988. He says he just had to fit the hands, and it would be finished. After that letter, they stopped coming. '  
  
Homer and Ysabelle looked each other nervously in the eye, and Homer said, 'so is this a wild goose chase.......'  
  
'No!' said Johnny, his deep brown eyes full of panic, 'No, I have the address of the old house, all you need to do is go there and find it in the house, and take it back here. After a little bit off research I can probably completely make AIDA for you.'  
  
Ysabelle, taking another sip of piping hot coco said, 'so we get this machine and then go home. Seems okay to me.....'  
  
They both turned to look at Johnny, who at this moment was staring at the floor. Homer glared at him, his hazel eyes boring into Johnny's neck. 'This isn't going to be easy, is it? There's something you've not told us, isn't there?'  
  
Johnny looked up, slightly ashamed, and sighed. Then, looking away he said, 'I don't know. It's just something inside is telling me that my father didn't have the good sense to turn the thing off between work. It might be walking around somewhere.'  
  
'I know,' said Homer, 'we'll get contacted later tonight about where it is, but there's something else, isn't there?'  
  
Johnny closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, 'probably, but I really don't know what it is. Maybe it's just the letters. It's not nice to think that someone loves a machine more than they love you.'  
  
Homer took another sip of coco while Ysabelle sat, her mind thinking about something. Then, nervously she said, 'you're going to meet the apple of your fathers' eyes, aren't you? I think I know what you mean.'  
  
Homer, unaware of what Ysabelle had just said, asked, 'Johnny, where's AIDA?'  
  
'She's in the next room,' he said, standing up, 'I'll show you there if you like.' The two men stood up, leaving Ysabelle on her own.  
  
As Johnny led Homer to one of the spare bedrooms, he gave him a cautious glance and coughing nervously said, 'I shouldn't pry, but y'know Ysabelle, is she your....daughter.......'  
  
Homer looked at him blankly for a second, and then realising what he meant laughed and chuckled, 'No, of course not! We're not related in any way! No, we just work together, but I keep an eye on her. She arrived at the organisation under slightly suspicious circumstances, and she told me how she got there. She trusts me, that's about it really.'  
  
Johnny looked Sideways, but smiled a brittle smile and swung open the door. Homer looked in, and gasped with amazement, muttering, 'AIDA......AIDA.' Then, before he shut the door, he asked, 'I suppose you can find somewhere for Ysabelle to sleep tonight?'  
  
Johnny nodded. 'She's got another spare room.'  
  
Homer gave the smallest of small nods and called down the stairs, 'YSABELLE! ONCE YOU'RE DONE, GO TO BED!' and then, closing the door with a small squeak, retreated inside.  
  
**********  
  
Go on, review me. Do your worst.  
(please r and r me, just to see if I'm doing this right.) 


	6. You're a friend so I blame myself

Chapter 6 - You're a friend so I blame myself.  
  
Hello! I'm sorry about not updating for ages. I have no excuses except writers block. It was nasty. But as my muse got a cameo in this chapter, she decided to help. It was like this Douglas Addams. He was brilliant (okay, that isn't true for me, but the next bit is) but even when he knew what was going to happen, he ran out of words to express it. Well, that's what happened to me for about a month. Nasty. Really really nasty.  
  
Notes. Yes!  
  
1/ I used Queen as the song in this chapter because I wanted to. I stole my mums Queen CD and it was in my head. Forgive my love of Queen.  
  
2/ the title is taken from Feeder - Just a Day. Man I love that song!  
  
3/yes, someone is onto them, but I hope the next chapter is a surprise. I think you'll find it unexpected, but quiet good.  
  
4/ for those who don't watch stupid amounts of British TV, 'Dads army' is a sitcom set during the war, about a bunch of incompetent home guard.  
  
**********  
  
As Jane walked in she heard the clanking and clattering of machines as the cookie machine whirred and buzzed. Closing the door behind her with a loud slam that caused some dust to fall from the ceiling, she called, 'hello? Edward? Are you there?'  
  
She turned to her left to see two chairs, long forgotten and covered in dustsheets, by the door. On one of the chairs Edward sat, staring at the machine as it chugged along. Jane stepped in quietly. He looked miserable. He looked so miserable as he stared, unblinking at the machine, as if he had watched his one hope die in front of his eyes.  
  
'Edward?'  
  
Edward looked up, scared, and snipped ecstatically as if he was under attack. When he saw it was only her he relaxed, his fingers snipping gently. She hoped his face would form into a grin, but it didn't. He looked up, his face a picture of unhappiness. No more words needed to be said, but he did anyway.  
  
'He didn't come.' Those three simple words were weighed down with meaning. She could hear the disappointment; the confusion, the embarrassment, the soul destroying half-realisation and she swore she could hear a little recrimination in the voice. It was amazing what you could do with your voice, just to make a point.  
  
Jane felt a pang of guilt, but felt compelled to place a hand on his shoulder and kneel in front of him. 'Edward, I don't know how to say this, but I don't think he is coming back.'  
  
Edward looked at her; his eyes wide open at the concept.  
  
Jane sighed and continued, 'you see Edward, sometimes people don't wake up after a deep sleep, I don't know why,' she lied,' but sometimes it happens, usually to the wrong people.'  
  
Edward looked at her uncomprehendingly.  
  
He's going to make me say it, she thought, he's going to make me have to explain it. He knows it! Or does he? It was hard to tell with a face, which seemed as pure and innocent as his, but she had a feeling that something lurked behind those eyes that wasn't letting on something to the outside world. It didn't matter which way it was, she felt as if ice was running down her back.  
  
She didn't know how to say it, even if she had wanted to. Finally, after a pause that seemed to last a day she said, 'It's called Death. It means that you stop thinking and....'  
  
'Jim didn't think,' said Edward.  
  
'....Okay, different tack. Inside every living being a soul is supposed to exist.' She said, unsurely, 'this soul is, essentially, you. It's the thing that makes you more than a machine; it makes you do things of your own accord rather than just because you have to.'  
  
Edward listened. He seemed interested, but something wasn't clicking in his brain.  
  
'Well, the soul only stays in the body for a short while, and sometimes the soul will just go, and that's what death is. The soul leaving the body and leaving a shell there. '  
  
'So where does it go?'  
  
'No one knows.' Said Jane, 'its part of the mystery.'  
  
'So will it come back?' asked Edward.  
  
Jane sighed. 'Edward, it won't. '  
  
'Why not?'  
  
'I don't know, it just doesn't, everything after death is a mystery.'  
  
'So he won't wake up?' asked Edward, one last time.  
  
'No.' whispered Jane, looking down at the floor.  
  
The silence drowned out all sounds at that moment, as Jane dared to look Edward in the eye. Jane had never seen eyes that could say so much more than the owner. Admittedly she was in high school, but she had never seen eyes that could look ambivalent before, as these did now. It was somewhere between sadness and anger, fear and seething recrimination. Jane could hear nothing, feel nothing, see nothing but Edwards's eyes. As if they had just gone through all emotions in a flash, finally they settled on despondent, and his hands clipped slowly, contriving to sound miserable.  
  
Jane stood away from him, as if she didn't know what to do. Then, as if she had suddenly stopped thinking about what to do, and did what seemed right to herself, she walked towards him and put her hand on his shoulder. Edward, as if unsure what he should do, never having had anyone prepared to get close to him as this, even thought he had wanted them to, didn't move. Jane lent over and said, 'Edward, if you want me to, I'll go, but for now I'm here. I promise that unless you want me to leave, I won't. I'll try not to at least. '  
  
Edward looked up into her eyes and repeated to himself, 'he won't wake up.'  
  
'I'm sorry.'  
  
'But the machine...' He pleaded, 'It came on.'  
  
'I'm, I'm sorry.' Said Jane, guilt clawing away at her insides. God, she really was a bitch. She'd given this poor guy a little hope, and what for? Nothing! And she was too much of a coward to tell him that it had just been her mucking around. But as she tried to tell him, she felt her stomach recoil and her tongue freeze.  
  
Edward sat, staring at the floor, his face full if vacant despondence. He quivered nervously, as it he was suffering from shock.  
  
Jane suddenly felt awkward. 'Do you want me to leave?' she asked tentatively.  
  
Edward shook his head.  
  
Jane, to her surprise, found herself sitting on the cold floor, her head in her hands. They sat there silently for a few minutes. Silence seemed to fill the universe, as if it were diffusing into all space, choking and killing everyone silently. Jane didn't know what to say, let a lone do, while Edward, as if his mind were computing the information, sat there, like some obscene statue, waiting for either an answer or the thought to properly sink in.  
  
Just the silence was causing Jane to sigh, she heard a sound. It sounded a little fuzzy, but it was unmistakably.....like. ....Like a voice? Jane scrambled to her feet.' What was that?' she exclaimed.  
  
Edward seemed to become animate again, and listened too. 'I don't know.' she said nervously.  
  
'It sounds like its coming from the machine.' She whispered. She took a dirty grey dustsheet off a chair, and holding it like a fire blanket in her arm she turned around to him and said, 'stay there. If someone followed me you can hide.'  
  
'Why would I want to do that?' asked Edward. Jane gave him a look of pleading, not willing to explain that if he was seen, they might try to kill him.  
  
She crept into the place where the machine was kept, her footsteps sounding undeniably loud. Her heart pounding like it were about to burst out of her chest, she walked cautiously, looking around for a place where the voice could come from. As she got closer to the sound, it seemed less human, less....normal. It was as if it weren't really there......  
  
'I'm just a poor boy, no body loves me....' Sang a strangely familiar voice. She sided towards the lever, and pulled it so it was off. As the machinery clunked to a halt, she heard a choir sing, 'Spare him his life from this monstrosity.'  
  
She heard the sound of a piano, and then, like the sound of some strange announcing angel something sang, 'easy come, easy go, will you let me go?'  
  
She closed her eyes, and breathing heavily, she pin pointed the place where the sound had come from. She breathed in carefully, willing her whole body, and threw the dustsheet over something before screaming like a banshee!  
  
She opened her eyes slowly. In front of her she saw the sheet sprawled on the floor, with a small lump in the middle. She gingerly lifted the sheet, and realised it was just the radio. In response, the radio proclaimed 'No! We will not let him go! Let him go! We will no let him go, let him go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, no, no, no, no!!'  
  
She heard snipping and slicing behind her as a pair of feet walked quickly towards her. She turned around as she saw Edwards face, a little paler than usual say, 'Are you okay? Is he gone?'  
  
Jane, feeling more than a little stupid, grinned foolishly and said, 'Edward, it was just, just the radio. '  
  
The radio burst to a guitar solo, and to her own surprise, she found herself pretended to air guitar. 'You see,' she explained, 'I was just scared by the radio.'  
  
Edward still looked confused. She threw the blanket off, and picked up the radio. The sound cracked as she moved it, but it claimed, 'so you think you can stomp me and spit in my eye?'  
  
'It was just the radio, 'he said, poking it with a blade.  
  
The signal waved for a second, but the end of the line could be heard. '....You can love me and leave me to die...?'  
  
'See, you must have left the radio on,' said Jane with an unamused chuckled.  
  
'I did?' said Edward, far more carefully than Jane would have given him a right to.  
  
Jane, looking into his slightly confused face, felt her mouth fall open and dropped the radio with a loud smash. She gasped, and within seconds she felt five blades comfortingly holding her arm. She looked into his eyes, and all Jane could think to do was to choke, and lay her head on his shoulder.  
  
**********  
  
Back in England a phone went off while Johnny had gone to bed while Homer and Ysabelle were watching 'Dad's army.'  
  
Ysabelle sighed and said, 'Who phones at this time of night?'  
  
'I think it's one of our contacts. The 'physis's said they'd get someone onto my little "hunch".'  
  
'You had a "hunch?"' sneered Ysabelle, 'you've never had a "hunch" since you found those plans for AIDA. ' The phone continued to ring. 'Are you going to pick that up?'  
  
'Yes,' Homer sighed, throwing her a dirty look. He reached out for his Phone he had left on the side, and accepting the call he said, 'hello?'  
  
Ysabelle pretended to watch the TV, but surreptitiously turned it down.  
  
'Hi Jes......You're where? .......Really?.....It didn't take you long to find out where the city was........okay, okay, I know it wouldn't.......you when there? Without telling me, or the 'physis's for that matter.....well, great but.....you what?........Do you know how much damage you could've done you stupid.......Look, I'll get tickets to go there in a few days, but for the love of God don't go back without telling someone! I don't have time, send me a report in the morning..... Bye!' he switched off the phone, and smashed it down on the table.  
  
There was a moment of silence before Ysabelle asked, trying to sound as calm and nonplussed as possible, 'who was that?'  
  
'Jes.' He said, turning back to the TV.  
  
'What she want?' she replied.  
  
'She checked out my idea. I was right.'  
  
'What idea was this?'  
  
'That the thing Johnny's father made is walking around. But Jes said something was wrong.'  
  
'Well, what can you expect. Nothing's ever right for that damn.....'  
  
'Shut up Ys. She said that someone apart from us knows that it exists. About forty years ago someone found him, took him down to the Town, and then a few weeks later they mobbed him. Obviously he's still alive, but when Jes went up there she saw a girl in there with him.'  
  
'Hmm' said Ysabelle, 'interesting.'  
  
'Before she could get some proof she set something off, had to run before they found her.'  
  
'That wouldn't 've happened if you had've sent me.' Said Ysabelle dryly, 'I'm not that stupid to do something like that.'  
  
Homer turned around to her and exploded, 'Ys, what is wrong with you? Every time there's a female within a....a six-mile radius you start acting like a bitch! What the hell is your problem with women!'  
  
Ysabelle gave him a dirty look and said, 'well, its better to act like a bitch then to be one.'  
  
'I give up on you sometimes.' Sighed Homer, 'you're even more messed up than me.'  
  
********** 


	7. You've always been a thorn in the side

Chapter 7 - You've always been a thorn in the side, but to me you're a shinning light.  
  
Yay! I've updated pretty quickly for me! Be happy. Sorry It aint me best, written during my free period between revision. Very late now. Well, I promised you something interesting, and you've got it. Only a few notes -  
  
1/ The art teacher is based on Mr Dyall in 'Never trust a rabbit' by Jeremy Dyson, hence the art teacher's name. It's a good book. I enjoy it immensely.  
  
2/ Winoda Ryder was cut on her right hand, so it isn't a copy-cat cut. Hehehe alliteration, no I mean it doesn't mean the same thing.  
  
3/ Title from Shinning light by Ash. V-good song. Me likes it a lot.  
  
4/ You might be able to guess what happens next. I hope you can wait a little while for next chapter. Middle of exams. Ick.  
  
**********  
  
Jane couldn't sleep that night, and had tossed and turned, thinking about whether she should have tried to tell him that she had set up the machine by accident, or if she should have explained why it was dangerous for people to see him. Or was it? They had accepted him once before, and she wasn't all that scared when she first met him, was he really all that terrifying?  
  
Or was it she wanted a secret all of her own?  
  
Jane had shivered about this thought. Was she really that selfish? Did she want to keep him all to herself so she could have a secret? So she wouldn't have to share him? Was she really that nasty? She reasoned she was, and hadn't been able to sleep all night.  
  
The next morning, to her dismay, she overslept by about an hour and was late for school. Panicking, she had thrown on a shirt over her pyjama top and slipped into a pair of jeans before picking up her bag full of school stuff, jamming a couple of paintbrushes in her hair to keep the bun in place and running the full mile to school.  
  
When she arrived she realised she had missed her first period of a two period session. It was art. Her sneakers squeaked down the empty corridor as she ran to her lesson, her heart screaming like crazy in tiredness and a distinct cramp in her leg starting to form. She tripped over her legs, throwing her books and pencils all over the empty hall floor. She moaned in frustration and quickly opening her bag, she sat on the floor grabbing vainly at the equipment and threw it with the utmost negligence she could muster. Jane could not get rid of the sensation that her life was part of some intergalactic joke and right now some aliens were watching her and laughing at her.  
  
She packed up her bag, and getting up, half stumbling, half running; she sprinted to the art room, her bag making strange sounds as it clunked against her hip. She reached the door, panting, and swallowing her breath she waited to cool down a little just before she went in. She took a couple of deep breaths, and then, opening the door as little as possible slipped inside.  
  
The class's eyes barely flickered towards her as she sidled in and collapsed on a chair at the back of the room.  
  
'......So that is how myths a legends have inspired renaissance art, ' droned the teacher, 'and I see that Miss Parsons has decided to grace us with her presents.'  
  
The whole class turned their heads and craned around to see her as if they were a single automated machine. Jane felt her face start to burn from embarrassment, and mumbled under her breath, 'I'm sorry Mr Dyson, I overslept.'  
  
'Then buy an Alarm clock Miss Parsons, they aren't expensive and that way you could gain every moment of my knowledge, or did you think that you were too good to listen to the first period of my lesson?' The class laughed at her as her face burned red and she looked at the floor.  
  
'Sorry sir.' She whispered.  
  
'May I say that with your limited ability you need to be here on time so you do not flunk my class, and that if you wish to complete your first term piece, that you should at least attend the lesson in which I am talking about it.'  
  
''Orry sir.' She whispered more quietly as the class conspicuously tried to stop themselves from bursting out laughing. A few of them couldn't and snorted loudly.  
  
Mr Dyson, now satisfied that his least favourite student had been properly admonished for arriving late, turned back to the class and said, ' Miss Parsons has lead me onto the subject of our first piece. The title for this piece is 'myths and legends.' Like the pictures we have talked about this morning I want you to do two things. First of all, I wish you to think of a particular fairy story, myth or saga, one that might have caused an emotional response, fear, anger, sadness, joy, and to create an image in the styles we have practised over this term. The image should be of a story you can explain very quickly, and both explore the moral or reason behind the story, as well as your emotional response. To answer this question I am about to give you in an image: What does this story have to do with me? And- Miss-Parsons-what-on-earth-are-you-doing?'  
  
Jane held a notepad in her hand and had been scribbling down notes madly. 'Mr Dyson, I was just writing down - '  
  
'Miss Parsons, I will give you time to do that afterwards, and coming in late you need to listen to me.'  
  
Jane slowly put the notebook on the floor flashing Mr Dyson a dirty look when he wasn't looking.  
  
'.As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,' said Mr Dyson, directing it directly as Jane in such a manner that everyone looked at her again, 'the subject of your picture should say as much about you as it does about the story. For example, if I were to do the story of Hansle and Grettle,' a few people laughed at the idea that Mr Dyson would ever do a picture of such a twee subject.' instead of doing a still life of a girl pushing a witch into an oven, I would do the picture of them in a forest, the forest representing how lost we both feel and the breadcrumbs as a sign of false hope. I would advice our friend Miss Parsons to do the story of the vampire, a creature that cannot bear to walk in sunlight.'  
  
The class laughed goonishly again while Jane turned an even brighter shade of red.  
  
'Or maybe Rudolf the red nose reindeer!' shouted Danny. Although most people did not actually find the joke funny, they laughed at it anyway because first of all, he was a popular Jock and you did not argue with him, and secondly because it was fun to make fun of someone who nobody really liked, let alone know anything about, and didn't react.  
  
'And I shall be pleased to pass your piece of work only because the Principle would fire me if they dropped a top football player from the team.' Said Mr Dyson dryly. Everyone stopped laughing.  
  
There was a silence before one of Mr Dyson's more favourable student put up their hand and said, 'Mr Dyson, would you be able to recount a legend like ''Night of the living dead?'''  
  
'Ah, you mean urban legends? Yes, of course, with explanation of course. ' Replied Mr Dyson, 'because you have to admit, many Urban Legends, not including the movie, can have emotive subjects such as child abduction and my particular favourite, the old lady who put her dog in a microwave oven.'  
  
Some people in the class laughed, while a few preppy girls made a face of disgust at the very notion. The bell rang and Mr Dyson clapped his hands.  
  
'Right class, I'll see you next week, please bring all your sketches and sources with you, as well as photos, ideas and so on, as well as the completed piece. They must be in this time next week.'  
  
As Jane filed out, an idea formed in her head. Why not? She thought, why not paint Edward? It was like she had her story ready and waiting, all she needed now was time.  
  
**********  
  
Unknown to an oblivious Jane and Edward, as the teacher shut the door he heard a voice behind him said icily, 'Mr Dyson, the Metaphysic's have a job for you.'  
  
He turned around, the figure veiled in the shadows that had suddenly appeared in the classroom. He sighed on the sight of the figure and moaned, 'Oh God, Jes, you know I'm out of that now!'  
  
'You're not.' Said the figure derisively, ' Unless you're ready to stop getting money from us, you have to do as we ask.'  
  
'What is it?' Said the teacher; his voice so usually full of sarcasm and slight desperation sounded so strange when it was resigned and fearful.  
  
'One of you're pupils Mr Dyson,' said the figure stepping forward enough so you could see its grey blue eyes and hear the jingle of metal buttons and boots, 'are of interest to us...'  
  
**********  
  
She ran all the way to the mansion that day. She ran past all the topiaries without giving them a second thought, and almost knocking the door down she ran inside.  
  
'Edward!' she cried out, 'Edward!'  
  
Edward sidled out of some shadows and snipped welcomingly.  
  
'Edward, I have something to show you!' she said, opening her bag, taking something out and letting it fall to the floor.  
  
Edward, looking at the excited expression on her face stepped closer, his own face alight with wonder and awe at the unseen object. Jane lifted the object to her face, pointing it at him. Edward snipped his scissors.  
  
'Cheese!' she exclaimed.  
  
Before Edward knew was had happened there was a bright flash of light that forced him back again. The light disappeared, and he snipped nervously, looking around to see where the thing that flashed was.  
  
'Oh Edward, I'm sorry,' said Jane, rushing over and holding his wrist, 'I should've told you. ' Jane showed him the thing in her hand, 'I went into the store just before I came here and I bought a camera. Look, it isn't dangerous.'  
  
She let go, and held the camera so Edward could look at it properly. First of all he leaned forwards, as if he wouldn't get another chance to scrutinise the object. He narrowed his eyes a little, and with one long shaft of metal he poked at it, as if making sure it was dead. There was a rip of cheap cardboard as he did so, but he cocked his head to one side, and poked at the camera again, as if to find out if there were any more nooks and crannies in it. Jane didn't recoil, but staring at him intently said, 'see, it's just a camera.'  
  
He looked up, moving mechanically, and smiled, the leather skin creaking gently, as if to inform her that he had made sure of her facts, and he now felt safe with the foreign object. She lifted it slowly to her face again and said, 'when you press this button, 'she pointed to a button on the camera, 'you can an image of a person inside the camera, which, at a later date you can put on paper without having to draw it.'  
  
Edward nodded, still weary of the object. He poked it again with his scissors. Jane smiled to herself and lowering it she said, 'Edward, I have a favour to ask of you.'  
  
He stared at her, his mind still preoccupied with the camera.  
  
'This is going to sound strange, but could I paint you?'  
  
Edward recoiled very fast and looked at her completely terrified. His blades clicked madly and he looked around, as if expecting people to jump out at him.  
  
'Please Edward, I just want to paint a picture of you - ' Edward suddenly relaxed. The terror left his face and was replaced with slight embarrassed calm.  
  
Jane couldn't help but chuckled to herself. He had thought she had wanted to paint him - literally! She knew it was a little mean, but sometimes even the best of us can't help it. She stepped towards him, her eyes full of sincerity. 'You don't have to, but I'd like you to let me. You don't even have to stay still, I could just be with you, just let me sketch things down.'  
  
Edward looked to the walls of the old mansion as if he was deciding something. He stood there, looking at the wall for a good minute, and then turned to her. 'My father had paintings of himself.' He said.  
  
'So, would you like one?' she asked.  
  
Edward looked at her for a few seconds and then said, his voice weighed down with decision and carefulness, 'yes. I'd like it very much.'  
  
Jane unexpectedly threw her arms around him to hug him. Edward, shocked, threw out his arms to catch her, but as he raised his hands, one of his blades speared Jane's left hand. Time seemed to hang in the air as she gasped out in pain, and held it up to her face to watched a single drop of warm blood weal up in the unintentional wound, and then, with the slowness of the mountains, they watched as it gradually trickled down her hand and felt like a comet to the floor, the sound of the small "plop" magnified by a million.  
  
Jane looked up into his face, her face a picture of fear. Edward looked around, panicking. It had been a long while since he had drawn blood, and the same feeling of guilt and absolute terror filled his very being. By the expression on his face, he thought that she was about to shout at him the same things Jim had shouted at him long ago. * You ruin everything!* He said to himself in his head, *You destroy everything you touch!*He felt the dread roll up in his stomach. He opened his mouth, as if trying to explain it had just been an accident, he hadn't meant to do what he had done, but he had done it, and he knew that he shouldn't 've done it.  
  
Then, as if time speeded up to compensate for the slowness before, Jane gripped her hand and let out a little groan. Edward didn't know what to do, but he did the first thing that came into his mind - Run. He turned to run away, but he heard a voice call out, 'Edward!'  
  
He turned around, against his better judgement. Jane stood there, a little paler than usual, but otherwise fine. 'Edward, I'm sorry. It was just an accident. '  
  
He stared at her. He couldn't remember a time when what he did was an accident. It had always been his fault, but never an accident. He became intrigued by this way of thinking, and walked towards her again, slowly, like a wounded dog. 'It was?' he asked.  
  
He nodded, biting her lip.  
  
'You still want to be my friend?' he asked, the excitement in his voice barely contained.  
  
'I don't see why not.' She giggled, 'I just need to get a plaster or something, nothing too bad.'  
  
'Do you still want to come up here, ' he asked in his innocent tone, 'you still wan to paint me?'  
  
'Of course!' said Jane, stepping towards him, 'but first of all, I should wipe your blades clean. ' She reached into her pocket, and taking him over to the desk next to the cookie machine sat him down while she bound her hand with one half, and wiped Edwards blades clean with the other half.  
  
Edward felt quiet happy as the girl wiped his blades ever so carefully, as if she were an expert at cleaning the things. She buffed them as much as she could with the tissue, and when she had finished she looked up at him and remarked, 'all done.'  
  
Edward stood up and watched how she bound the hand with the little scrap of paper handkerchief, and watched as she turned around and saw something standing on a pedestal. She walked over to it, and picked it up. Edward looked at her curiously as she turned the pages. Jane seemed to notice his gaze and asked, 'Edward, what's this book?'  
  
'It's my fathers book all about me.' Said Edward, 'It shows how I was made.'  
  
Jane closed the book and looked right up at him asked, 'would you mind if I took it home and read it. It's very interesting.'  
  
He shook his head. Jane put it on the floor, and standing up she said, 'Well, I think I better get started on this painting. Do you mind if I use the camera again?'  
  
*********  
  
Thanks for reading, please R and R this poor Author on your way out of this browser. All reviews appreciated. V.v. so because of exams. 


	8. Are you too scared to look within?

Chapter 8 - Are you too scared to look within?  
  
Title name was taken from the Song, Other side by David Gray.  
  
This is a little chapter between chapters, just something to keep everything ticking along. I'm so sorry I haven't updated for, well, ages is the nicest way to put it. First it was exams, then I started work on a couple of other projects, and then I got block, well, you get the idea. I've been Lazy, but I got myself off my but for long enough to type this up. Trust me, the next chapter should be interesting, if nothing else.  
  
But please, forgive my laziness.  
  
Notes? Yep!  
  
1/ Remember that Old Lady. I think you can guess what's gonna happen next. Or you might not.  
  
2/ Art teacher next chapter, yeah, I know. Boring.  
  
3/ Okay, I might have overstepped the Mary Sue line with her parents, but at least she isn't adopted by drug addicts, which is the usual route these sorts of stories go. No real actual tragedy, just nothing that would make you want to be Jane. I hope it isn't too Sue.  
  
4/ Johnny Depp said he had modelled his performance of Edward on all the Dogs he had owned, but I didn't see it that way. I've based him on an autistic child, but that just what I think.  
  
Please enjoy!  
  
*********  
  
Jane, true to her word, went back there every day after school to sketch him. He often looked over her shoulder curiously, and looked puzzled; as if he didn't quiet understand what was happening to the paper. Jane spent lots of time sketching his scissor hands though, they intrigued her. The shape, the metal, the grey tint, she took more photographs of them than the rest of him all together.  
  
She had painted his picture at home late at night, hiding it under the bed so her parents wouldn't bother her as she poured through the sketches, photo's and the old book she had taken from the mansion. She regretted taking it, disturbing it seemed like a crime to her, but she had sat up reading it until late in the morning. It showed exactly what Edward was, how he had been made. She had heard about some old renaissance artists who had studied anatomy because they thought it would help them draw more life- like pictures, and looking at the old lists of materials and apparatus needed, she found herself understanding him more. Maybe not him, as he was, but what he was.  
  
She had one art lesson between the double period she had on Thursdays, and most pupils had used it as an excuse to slack off or, as some of the more grade conscious pupils had done, get some of their piece finished. Jane had sat at the back of class and pretended to sketch a few of the buckles on Edwards body, not wanting the teacher to see what she was drawing until the last moment. The came over a few times and tut-ted something a long the lines of 'I can see that D+ already Miss Parsons.' Jane had done the infuriating thing and ignored his comment, continuing to shade them in. Only when she thought his back was turned she put the buckle picture to one side and continued with drawing the eyes. She had spent most of her Saturday with him, talking to him as she drew in some of the more important details. She had drawn his eyes, but she had decided not to paint them until the last day. Edward had enjoyed his time with her. He said he hadn't been with another person for a long time, how long was a mystery, but they both knew it had to have been over ten years.  
  
On Saturday evening, (although she had been loathed to leave him [as she always was]), sitting down to dinner with her parents it was almost completely silent. It always was. They didn't talk any more. Her parents were the sort that if one of them talked to the other, an argument wasn't far away. There wasn't a night she knew that they hadn't been arguing over something like the mortgage, Jane, work, the dishes, Jane, Religion, politics, Jane, toast, the TV, which one hated the other more, Jane, Jane's grades, the usual sort of thing. Oh, the pretended they had the perfect marriage when they were out, but at home it was a different matter. Jane switched herself off to it most of the time. It was the one thing she knew how to do, switch off and go into your own world, your own thoughts when things got bad. Jane wished they would divorce, but they were the type that stayed together out of spite to one another.  
  
The silence was uncomfortable. Jane could tell by the air of the house that there had been another argument before she had come home. The two of them were avoiding eye contact, and when they did look at each other they flashed each other dirty looks. Finally, Jane's Dad said in a rather contrived friendly fashion,' So, Jane, how was drama club?'  
  
Jane's fork stopped in mid-air. She had to find an excuse and quick. One popped into her head. Sullenly she mumbled, 'I quit.'  
  
'Where have you been all day then?' exclaimed her father in the voice he always used to start off one of his "I'm very disappointed in you and you're grounded" speeches.  
  
'I was at a friends house, doing my art coursework. ' She answered, repeating the same manner. She didn't think her parents would know if she had any friends or not. They let her keep her life to herself as long as she lived by the rules of "no boys; get homework in on time; No late nights. Ever."  
  
'Who's?' asked her Mother.  
  
'Umm, Tara Fullers?' she said in what she hoped was a confident voice.  
  
'Oh.' There was silence again. Jane finished her dinner and was about to go to the kitchen when her father said, 'Jane, don't forget you're going over to old Mrs Peterson's house tomorrow to do some yard work. '  
  
'WHAT?' she exploded, turning around.  
  
'You're going 'round to Mrs Peterson's house tomorrow to do some yard work for her.' repeated her father.  
  
'Dad! I didn't know this, when I was I told this?'  
  
'Right now, your mother saw Mrs Peterson today and told her you'd do it.'  
  
'Derrick! Don't you pass the blame onto me!' interjected Her Mother, 'you were the one to say she'd be glad to do it.'  
  
As they began to bicker she yelled, 'Okay, I'm going over there tomorrow! I'll do what she wants, and I'll let you two decided which one screwed up your lives.' And with that she walked up the stairs to her bedroom, her parents barely noticing her.  
  
**********  
  
'Do you want another glass of lemonade, Dear,' said Mrs Peterson.  
  
'NO thank you mam' 'said Jane as she mowed her lawn. She wanted to get this job over and done with as soon as possible. It wasn't that Mrs Peterson wasn't a sweet old woman, she was as nice as they came, and used to baby sit her when she was little, but when Mr Peterson had died in an unfortunate sheering accident five years ago she'd gone a bit do-lally and became what she called a 'cat woman.' All right, maybe she only had three cats, but they'd made enough mess in her garden to keep Jane busy for too long. It was just the lawn to mow and the garbage to take out.  
  
Jane was using Mrs Peterson's old 'push along' mower, and had to stop for breath. She wiped her brow with her bound hand Mrs Peterson looked a little concern and asked, 'what happened to your hand, me 'dear?'  
  
'I cut myself with a compass in maths,' she lied.  
  
'Let me take a look at that,' said the old lady, grabbing her hand. Undoing the makeshift bandage she had made Mrs Peterson looked at the cut.  
  
'My oh my that's a clean cut for a compass. ' She said, tutting. Jane stood silently. Was she going to ask about it? Mrs Peterson winked at her, 'Oh, I know what happened...' oh no, thought Jane, does she know, does she remember? '.....You were chasing boys when you cut yourself.'  
  
'Yeah.' Giggled Jane nervously,' that's what happened. '  
  
Mrs Peterson patted the hand and said, 'don't worry dear; I used to get cuts like that all the time. Now, how about I get some antiseptic, wrap it properly and you finish that lawn, eh?'  
  
'Thank you mam'.' Said Jane as Mrs Peterson let her hand go. That had been close. She didn't want Mrs Peterson telling everyone about Edward, even thought she doubted they would believe her. They said she'd never been the same since her husband died.  
  
Jane stopped thinking about Mrs Peterson as she came out of the house. 'All that blood dear, and all from a little cut.' She said, 'now dear, just let me dress that thing.'  
  
**********  
  
Edward was worried. As he rattled around the old house, going from one room to another, his mind was tattered. She was late. She wasn't here. That was how everything bad started. When people were late, it meant that something had happened to them, and most of the things he could think of weren't that nice. Jane was nice. She came up here and talked to him for a while. But she was late.  
  
He clicked his blades. She hadn't ever been late before. As he walked around the front hall his thoughts were ones of slight panic. He didn't like it when people were late. It meant that he didn't know when they were coming. That meant that they might not be coming, that might mean that he was left alone again, like when his father, he couldn't even bring himself to think the word, but when he..........when he..........died, and like when Kim didn't come back. Being Alone for a Long Time. Edward didn't like it when he was alone. It meant he remembered things like when his Father was still alive, and when he though Kim and him were going to be together. But all these times, all he could remember were his hands. He didn't know why. It was like as soon as Jane had come around that he started to remember that his hands were different. Funny that, he hadn't really noticed before. Maybe because before people had made a fuss about them, but Jane, well, Jane did, but she tried to hide it. Odd.  
  
But she was late. He stood next to the machine as it churned and spun, not producing anything from its labours. He stared at it; his heart feeling like it had sunk in his chest, his insides feeling burning hot. He liked looking at things. People liked to rush, they didn't like to look, but they wanted you to think something of it, or to follow what they wanted, but he liked to look at things. But these things were moving too fast. He couldn't look at them properly. People never seemed to understand that he didn't like fast things. He liked it when things moved slowly enough for him to examine them completely, but they always moved it on too fast. Things felt like they were moving too fast, and Edward didn't like it.  
  
But Jane was late. His blades clicked again. He hated being alone. He didn't exactly hate the castle, in fact he loved it, but it was as if Jane's presence had stirred something inside, something he was beginning to dislike. Some thing that made him want to leave, something that made him wish he wasn't.....wasn't here. Away. A change. Most of all he wished for everything to go back to how it was when he was in the town. Right now he would even go back and face Joyce if it meant he could escape, but he couldn't. There was no reason he could think of, except he was frightened. He was frightened of the mob. It sounded stupid, but he was frightened that if he went back he might find the mob was still looking for him, and still wanted him dead.  
  
It was best to stay up here, safe, no one could hurt him here. No one ever came up here, no one ever wanted to hurt him up here, he had to stay up here, away from the people who wanted to hurt him....  
  
As he thought this the door opened. Like an obedient Dog, Edward's ears picked up, and he turned around to see it was Jane.  
  
'I'm sorry I was late, my parents made me do some chores, ' said Jane apologetically. She smiled gently at him, and Edward felt himself feel happier. She walked in, taking out various pads of paper and pencils, laying them on a handily placed chair, before looking up at him.  
  
'Ed, what's wrong?'  
  
Edward looked at her blankly, almost as if he was trying to hide something.  
  
'You seem a little off today.'  
  
He just stared at her, unable to answer. Edward couldn't lie, not properly, but he didn't want to say what had been crossing his mind. He merely looked at her, and, her eyes twinkling with concern she said, 'is it because I was late? I'm sorry, I really am, it was just an old neighbour of mine, I had to help her. '  
  
Edward just stared for a moment, then he nodded his head slowly.  
  
'Edward, please forgive me. '  
  
Edward let the corners of his mouth go up, just a little bit, as if uncertain if he was allowed to. As Jane met his smile with a grin of her own, he smiled, his whole face lighting up. She gently touched one of his blades, and said, 'Thanks Edward, you don't know how much that meant to me.'  
  
And Edward never did.  
  
**********  
  
Thank you for reading, and hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have thinking up this story. Thank you, as always,  
  
Xandra the Blue. 


	9. All the truth's unwinding, scraping away...

Chapter 9 - All the truth's unwinding, scraping away at my mind.  
  
Song - Citizen Eraised by Muse.  
  
I never though I'd ever find myself listening to Muse, but I am, and enjoying it a lot!  
  
**********  
  
"So, thank you Danny, for this interpretation of 'naked woman running away from big ape-thing.'" Sighed the teacher, "C-, and be glad I didn't expel you from my class for such a heinously badly drawn piece of art. Now, if we want a piece of art, we need not look much further than....."  
  
"Sir, it's actually Tor Johnson she's running from." Danny added Helpfully.  
  
"Well, he was basically an ape any way, as I was saying, Mary Corbett's wonderful 'Headless Horseman' on the other hand, is drawn almost completely from her own imagination, with, may I note, the sense of both urgency and decadence, which gives you an A, I think.....Wait, where on earth is Jane Parson? I wanted to see the tripe she served up to us under the name of interpretive art."  
  
It was at this point, a sound like a tree being dragged painfully loudly along the corridor outside was heard. "Hmm, right on time, for her." He quipped as he heard a dull thud outside the door, and a doorknob squeak open. The class laughed at her slightly ragged appearance as she wheezed, "I'm sorry I'm Late My Dyson, I had to carry my work on the bus."  
  
"I'm sure many of the other pupils' here had to do the same, but they're all here, except, it seems for you and your sense of timing."  
  
Jane blushed, and said quietly, "sorry Sir, " and attempted to lug in the six and a half foot canvas covered by a dustsheet.  
  
The class laughed hysterically as she failed miserably. Mr Dyson, motioning to his favourites to help her said, "Please, Miss Parson's, will you explain why your art piece is the size of a small cow?" The laughed burst out into more laughter, "Were you late because you were, in fact, stealing a bill board? Will I see tonight on the news the report that bill boards around town have been disappearing mysteriously since I told you about your coursework?" At this point the class would have laughed if he had told them the time as they revelled in Jane's humiliation.  
  
She wanted to run away, or scream at them, but she couldn't. She just bit her tongue and replied; "You said to go into our subconscious, to imagine a story that hit you hard, what it did to you...."  
  
"Obviously your story hit you hard enough to flatten it to six feet long."  
  
There were fewer laughs, but more appreciated.  
  
"Well, can I at least explain what it is!" She rasped, her usually timid voice gaining a frightening edge of anger.  
  
"Go ahead. It can't be much worse than the final product." Sneered Mr Dyson, lying back on his chair.  
  
"Well, it was a local ledged I heard. I heard that one a boy with scissor hands lived around here that he lived on that castle on the hill. On day someone found him, and took him down here to be looked after. I heard that he was an evil monster who destroyed things, and in the end the people just had to chase him out of town to keep them safe. Back to the hill, and a boy who fought him was killed in cold blood, but the roof fell in on him, and he died.  
  
"But I also heard a different version of the story. I heard that the boy never hurt anyone. I heard that the Boy just fell in love with a girl. I heard that he just wanted to be loved, shown human compassion, but the people who lived here couldn't do that. I heard that he was chased out of town on the flimsiest excuse, and that the boy he killed had been pushing him around for ages before hand, and it wasn't as if it wasn't coming to him. I also heard that unlike the stories, that he had a name. His name was Edward."  
  
"Emotional Tripe." Sneered Mr Dyson, "I know the legend, and I guess you've done a picture of him. Well, show me!"  
  
Jane, her eyes turned away from the crowd, pulled reluctantly at the dustsheet. Mr Dyson's face was twisted in preparation, to a perpetual sneer, but it was as the dustsheet floated to the floor his face sagged like a stretched tee shirt. He had expected, well, he hadn't, but what he had expected wasn't this. It was essentially, very simple, just a boy, with scissor hands, standing in a garden full of weird and wonderful topiaries on a starlit night sky. Just a simple picture, he might have said, if it hadn't actually *seen* the picture.  
  
The detailing on the blades was, well detailed. They looked so lifelike that he thought they might actually cut through the page. The suit he wore was mostly black to a casual observer, but ignoring the class he lent closer, and saw the various blues, greens and he swore once or twice, whites, used to make up the blackness, the folds and cuts executed brilliantly. He looked up at the boys' hair, wild, untamed, but again, black, black like the universe is black, and up into the night sky. He might have said it looked black again, but as he looked closer he saw purples and oranges of far away galaxies and bleeding red stars, as if they were crying in the pure sadness of the picture. That was the thing. This picture wasn't sad, but it made you feel as if someone had ripped your heart out of your chest and stamped on it. It was heart wrenching. But nothing, nothing he had seen so far in his whole life could prepare him for meeting the eyes.  
  
He looked into those brown eyes, full of expression and heart ache, and pain that he knew that no one else in the world could ever know, but as he looked into those painted eyes, he felt his own begin to tear up. This picture, it was, brilliant. Not just the detailing, which, obviously, was brilliant, the colours. The picture was dark, but as he looked at it, he could see colours shimmer on the paper like a mirage to a thirsty desert rat. The picture, he gasped out loud, but he just wanted to weep in pity with the boy, weep for his life, weep for his suffering, weep like he had never wept before.  
  
It was a full five seconds before he could answer. His sneering tone was lost as he gasped, "Jane, this is.....beautiful.," he gasped for breath again, "Is this all your own work, the background, the colouring, the setting, the boy?"  
  
"I painted it all myself if that's what you're asking, and I drew It." She answered curtly, "I really did. "  
  
"But did you do this anatomy from your mind, or did you have some reference...."  
  
"I did have a model...." Indulged Jane. Then, she slammed her mouth shut. She had said too much.  
  
"Model?" he asked, his voice half questioning, half musing.  
  
"No one important, " she stammered, "No one, it was, was just...."  
  
"I want top meet this model Miss Parson's." he said very quickly.  
  
"Sorry sir, I was lying, I just....I just took some stuff from an anatomy book, studied posters n'stuff......"  
  
"Miss Parson's we will discus this after the lesson!" he snapped, "um, as I was say, " he said, trying to compose himself again, "Terry Gryill, your picture....your picture of a ....of a wood nymph is...." But even this beautiful piece of work lacked the haunting quality of Jane's. As he tried to continue the class, his eyes kept drifting back to that piece. Each time he looked he found the words, "brilliant" and "macabre" interchange in his head. It was as if the picture was an unspoken metaphor for something he'd rather not think about. Other pieces seemed quiet pale and opaque in comparison. It wasn't as if the detailing on other pieces wasn't better, in some it was even superior, but it was as if it shone in a way he couldn't explain to anyone who hadn't seen this picture. It was like stood out from the rest in some way that couldn't be identified by him.  
  
By the end of the lesson the picture had made him jitter. The class had noticed the distinct lack of posture and bullying menace that he usual exuded. They left the lesson quickly, except Jane. She sat their in the empty room, and waited until the teacher, unknowing that he was still trying to drag his eyes off her painting, turned around to her.  
  
"Now, Miss Parson's, I think you'll agree that this picture is...is....of a much higher standard than your usual work, and I am tempted to give you an A+."  
  
Jane smiled at him.  
  
"But, " he continued, "There is one condition. I must meet this model of yours." He said, his voice hiding his own fright very effectively.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Miss Parsons, you can either do that, or I can fail you."  
  
"But Mr Dyson, you said that....."  
  
"Yes I did, but I don't mean just art. No, I can arrange it that you fail all your classes, every single one."  
  
"No you can't!"  
  
"Don't contradict me!" snapped Mr Dyson, "I can, and I'm not going to pussy foot around the subject. You can either bring me your friend, or you can fail classes. "  
  
"All of them?"  
  
"I can have you put back in Kindergarten if you rub me up the wrong way. I have contacts. I have friends in places so high that you can't see the top." Then, turning back to the painting, his eyes welling up with tears he shouted, "get out! Get out of my sight! I want to see your friend by Tomorrow, or I'll see you back in first grade!"  
  
Jane ran out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her in panic.  
  
**********  
  
".....And you see, Edward, that's why I'm asking you to come down again, just meet Mr Dyson and leave." Said Jane.  
  
Edward didn't reply. He just looked at her, not uncomprehendingly as he had before, but pensively, as if he knew too well.  
  
"Please Edward, he said he'd put me down a grade for the rest of my life." She pleaded.  
  
Edward looked her in here eyes, just for a moment, and suddenly shook his head.  
  
"Edward, just for me? Just for one day? I promise that nothing will happen to you. I promise that it'll just be one day, and I'll take you straight back up here afterwards."  
  
Edward looked down, his blades clicking thoughtfully. He was frightened, he didn't want to go back down, even though Jane was pleading him to go, but his very body turned to the ice he liked to touch at the though of returning. But as his mind went back to the town below, he saw a pair of brown eyes in his mind, brown eyes and blonde hair.....  
  
"....Hold me....." he mused under his breath, "But I can't."  
  
Jane sat patiently waiting for him to come back to her world.  
  
Edward looked up and said, "I'll go back, but only if we find Kim."  
  
"Kim?" replied Jane. Then she remembered, "Oh, yes, Kim. I'll do my best to find her, but I can't find her up here. I'll come back tomorrow for you, I'll just show you to Mr Dyson, and then I'll look for her, bring her up here. Deal?"  
  
Edward smiled and nodded.  
  
***********  
  
Mr Dyson had stayed after work just to see the picture again. He had been doing this all day. All day he kept up the pretence that all was okay, that everything was the same as usual, but between lessons he had sneaked looks at the picture, even during lessons he had tried to look at it, finding seemingly legitimate reasons to do so, but as he knelt their, before the painting as if it were the sacred Icon in a church, he felt the tears come to his eyes, the madness descend upon his mind. He felt crazed, like a moth that had seen a light and kept flying into it, burning slowly, but not caring because the light was so wonderful, eternal and mysterious.  
  
Tears leaked from his eyes, hitting the ground. He knew the picture wasn't sacred, or even as half as beautiful as he made it out to be, but the way the colours sizzled like fire, the way the eyes bore into his soul, the way....the way it looked. He couldn't stop himself. He let out a sob, but as he did he felt a cold hand of comfort sit on his shoulder.  
  
"So, Mr Dyson, I see you've done your work." Said a Harsh, feminine voice, "I have the money. You can spend it on what you wish. It could be Sex as usual, or maybe on alcohol. I know that there is some exotic porn on the Internet with your name on it."  
  
"Stop it!" hissed Mr Dyson, still looking at the picture.  
  
"I'm sorry Mr Dyson, but I'm only trying to cheer you up. You see, I know what you like. You are, in my opinion a very sad man. You spend your day making fun of others, and then go home, all alone to your empty flat and read your 'magazines', or, when you save up enough, buy a woman for the night. I might feel sorry for you, if you weren't so deeply, deeply pathetic."  
  
"Please, no more." He begged, his eyes unable to leave the picture, "please?"  
  
"The picture, it is rather remarkable, that's true." Said the voice behind him, "I don't see why you find it so special though. Or maybe you don't. Maybe its finally your guilt getting to you." The woman laughed unamusedly, "maybe it's your own self hatred finally realising that you're not the man you though you were. Why did you pick on Jane Parson's anyway? " Asked the woman, "I never understood it. She is quiet a talented artist. I'm not saying that she's brilliant, but she's good high school fodder, even if her style couldn't crack the outside world. Or maybe because she was a girl who was too much like you? Y'know, unable to fit in with people, ugly, no one could possibly be attracted to her, unusual taste, like you."  
  
Mr Dyson just sobbed.  
  
"But I could always be wrong. At least she has some sort of chance. At least she can counter her superficial appearance with an inner beauty, if you don't mind me being so soppy, unlike you who are as ugly on the inside as you are on the outside." The woman smiled. "Almost enough to make you want to kill yourself, isn't it?"  
  
Mr Dyson turned around. "Jes!" he called out, his voice almost incomprehendable.  
  
"Yes, I know, you want your money." She said softly. Mr Dyson left his eye turn back to the picture, barely noticing the sound of a pile of banknotes, neatly tied up with long piece of black ribbon, hit the ground next to him. "Goodbye Mr Dyson,you'll get the other half tomorrow, after you get the proof here ."  
  
He heard a click of metal, a swish of coat, and no more. He sobbed out once again, grabbing the money, his heart crying out. He ripped off the ribbon, and dropped the money on the floor. He swallowed, and then, on all fours like a dog he let out a cry of pain, his tears making the green ink run.  
  
*********  
  
Notes -  
  
1/I tried to reference some other Tim Burton movies. You'll note that I mention Ed Wood briefly under Tor Johnson (and Monster of the Bride by Edward D. Wood Junior, but never mind) and Sleepy Hollow.  
  
2/ yep, I steal a lot of the scene from Never trust a rabbit, but I blame that on my unimaginative brain.  
  
3/ I have looked up a lot of pictures of Edward for this project, and the picture I describe isn't actually one of them, but I can tell you that www.deviantart.com has the biggest collection of Edward Scissorhand pictures of the art websites I visited (feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.)  
  
4/ Well, I'm glad that most people got that Mrs Peterson is Kim Boggs. I'll try to explain the change of name, because I was going to do it later, but I'll do it here for the sake of argument. Although Kim was distraught about Edward, she married another man called Jeremiah Peterson, who has died recently. More on that later.  
  
5/The teacher can threaten her, because the Metaphysic's really do have influence everywhere. Bloody hell.  
  
6/ Jane is not perfect! She stupid for convincing Edward to go! Proof that she is not a particularly noble Mary Sue.  
  
7/ The last bit, well, it's kinda Freaky, but deals with the darker side of the man, and is also another heads up to both Edward D. Wood junior and the character who I based the teacher on in Never Trust a Rabbit. Trust me on this. I promise to keep this to a minimum if it is disliked.  
  
8/ Jéscika, my Muse also told me to tell you that she isn't usually like this, but she was forced into by my horribly twisted brain, rather than the other way around.  
  
Sorry for the notes being almost as long as the story! Thank you for reading,  
  
Xandra the Blue. 


	10. You make me sick because I adore you so

Chapter 10 - You make me sick because I adore you so  
  
Chapter title comes from Space dementia by Muse. I like it for no good reason.  
  
This decidedly odd chapter was finished at one AM, so that probably is the reason why the end looks like a dog wrote it. For the life of me I can't understand why my mind thinks that it was predictable all along. Maybe it was, but I definitely didn't see it coming.  
  
Warning - There is much swearing later in the chapter that could upset those of a delicate or Christian nature. Just warning you now.  
  
*********  
  
It was as Mr Dyson cried; Ysabelle and Homer were at Heathrow airport, looking around one of the generic music shops. This was under Ysabelle's instance and Homer, seeing that as they had a good hour to kill, had allowed himself to be traipsed around several record stores for a particular CD.  
  
Ysabelle was flicking through rows and rows of CD's as she muttered under her breath, "cast of thousands, cast of thousands, cast of thousands......why does no one sell good music?"  
  
"Ys, I think that after this, we are going to sit down, and give up this wild goose chase. You are not going to find that CD here! I love elbow as much as you do, but I just don't think that you're....."  
  
"Ah ha!" she said triumphantly, picking up a CD wrapped in cellophane, "They have it! " She held her hands up, either side of her head with her index finger held up, and her voice bursting with sarcastic pride she said, "Worship me now, unbelievers, for I am the God of Musical....."  
  
"....Bull." finished Homer, "Now, just pay for the goddamn CD, and I'll go over what we're here for. "  
  
"Aw, Homer, you don't need to look so pained." Ysabelle smiled, "You go to one of the café's upstairs, and I'll be their in a minute. "  
  
Homer rolled his eyes, and allowed Ysabelle to pay for her CD as he went up the escalator to one of the many coffee shops. He ordered a glass of water and a glass of orange juice, and too his order to the one sofa in the shop. He picked up the glass of water, and took as sip as Ysabelle, beaming, came up the escalator.  
  
"Have you seen the cover design?" she demanded, slumping next to him, "Have you seen it? It's exquisite! It looks really white art house, but then when you look closer it has something like paganism about it...."  
  
"Ys, first of all, shut up, then" he put his hand into his bag and took out a packet of pills, "I think you should take one of these iron pills. The Doctor said that you'd better...."  
  
"Homer, I'm over that now, and I'm not going to start again, so thanks but no thanks." She said taking a sip of her drink. "Anyway, you said you wouldn't bring that up again."  
  
"I didn't. You're the one over reacting. " Replied Homer, "It was just a though."  
  
"No, you don't get it, I don't do it any more, even if you want to think I do, so, yeah, it's a waste to give them to me." She spat, rubbing her bandaged arms.  
  
Homer looked rather grim as he said, "Ys, you know I worry about you. You better not be lying."  
  
"I'm not, " she said, looking out at the café, "I swear, I'm not."  
  
It was as she looked out Homer sneaked a pill into her glass. He was so quick that a millisecond later he had gone back to watching the café with her. She picked up her glass, and finished it as a whole. "It's warm today." She said casually, trying to change the subject.  
  
"Yeah, anyway, I was saying, Jes says that our contact, Dyson..."  
  
"I don't like Dyson. " Said Ysabelle darkly, "He looks like some of my old teachers, and everyone knows what he does in his spare time."  
  
"It doesn't matter if you like him or not, all that matters is that he does as he's told." Snapped Homer, "and he's been told to disable the robot, just for a while, and pay whoever knows about him to keep quiet."  
  
"That's doesn't sound right." Said Ysabelle softly, "It sounds....Horrible. Like the people before."  
  
Homer put his arm around her, and she put her head on his chest, a position she often took up when she was frightened or upset. A few people gave them an odd look, others whispered things, but none of it bothered Homer in the slightest. He played with a tightly braided pigtail, and sighed. "I know, but it's the way things sometimes work. Sometimes we have to change things a lot to stop a lot of things changing. I don't like it either, but I have a feeling that things won't work out. "  
  
"Why?" moaned Ysabelle, closing her eyes.  
  
"Because it seems too simple. Things are never that simple."  
  
"That's nice, it looks like we'll be thinking on our feet. " Replied Ysabelle sleepily, "Feets don't fail me now."  
  
*********  
  
Jane got up at Five A.M so she would be in time to get Edward to School on time, and then get him back, just so Mr Dyson could inspect him. He had phoned her parents the night before, telling them to tell her to meet him on the school grounds at seven in the morning, and it would take a while to get Edward down to town unnoticed, and then back later.  
  
In fact, this was not to happen. The streets were eerily empty at six in the morning as she marched past all the houses with Edward, often stopping and staring at seemingly odd things. Sometimes he'd just be staring at something like a silver car or a birdbath, things that were so boring and normal that if Edward hadn't have pointed them out, she wouldn't have noticed them as they walked by. Luckily for her, no one wanted to wake up before seven in the morning. It seemed almost as if this had all been staged for her benefit. She knew, for instance, that a boy in her class was delivering papers at this time in the morning, and should have passed her by now, but it was if he had been delayed just long enough for her to get Edward there.  
  
After a short walk that had felt as dangerous as walking across a field in Mozambique and as nerve-wracking as most exams, they reached the school. The main gate was locked, but Jane, having spent too much time in school before hours, knew that there was a gate that wasn't locked at any time that anyone could open. She led Edward to the gate, and let him through before making their way to the back entrance. Jane half-expected the door to the school to be locked, but it swung open.  
  
Leading Edward in she noticed the school had an odd, dead feeling about it. As it lay empty, it felt like something was missing, the buzzing energy that usually hung about the place. Edward seemed a little nervous of the place. Even he could feel that something wasn't right. Edward remembered when he had last been down here. In the town. It only felt as cold and lifeless at night. He didn't really know where he was going, but he noticed that Jane tried a few of the other doors, and couldn't get them open. Edward stopped to stare at one of the doorknobs. He held up one of his blades and poked at it. Jane grabbed his arm and hissed, "C'mon Edward!"  
  
Edward, now admonished, let her lead him, almost dragging him, and he wasn't sure why. He suddenly felt something inside him go wrong. He didn't like it here, he wanted to leave. He wanted to go right now. It felt bad. It felt like the salon here. He heard a buzzing from the ceiling, and looked up into the neon lights. He strained against Jane's grip.  
  
"Edward, please, it'll only take a minute. We can go soon, but please, please come with me!" Edward said nothing, but his eyes filled with fear. Jane finally reached the door to the art room. She turned the doorknob, and before Edward could protest she pushed him into the room.  
  
It was not a room she recognised.  
  
The room, usually kept meticulously tidy, was now a mess of paper, paint and ashes of magazines that she'd rather not know about. There was a lot of green ink all over the floor and half-dried pieces of paper. He stepped around them while Edward was paralysed with fear.  
  
"Mr Dyson!?" she called out, "Mr Dyson? "  
  
There was an insidious silence. Jane stepped forward, the sound of paper and burnt Ash crunching under foot was heard. "Mr Dyson?"  
  
It was then, and only then that she heard a low, unhappy laugh. The laugh, it sounded partly mad, partly extremely sane, like all the absurdities of life had been striped away and he had seen the world for what it truly was, just for a second before it ended. He stepped out of the shadows.  
  
To Jane he wasn't the man she knew. Mr Dyson was always impeccably dressed and poker faced, but the man in front of her looked primeval in his dirty, creased clothes. He less wore then than they hung off him, as if he were a waxwork dummy of the man he had once been. His unshaven face spilt into a nasty grin and he hissed, "Ah, you're here, and you brought the freak."  
  
"Err, Mr Dyson?" laughed Jane nervously, "What do you mean?"  
  
"My pretty, " he hissed in a low, obtuse tone, "My pretty, he's here. That means that I don't need them any more, that means my work is done. That means I can do anything I want!" he rasped madly at her.  
  
"Mr Dyson, what to do want? You've seen him!"  
  
"Yes, " he said, as if just realising something. He walked over to Edward, and lifted up his scissor hands, "Yes, he's just like you painted him. My, my, I though I'd seen a lot of deformity in my life, but at no time have I met with such a perverted or degraded version of a human being as this man."  
  
Edward gave him an odd, sideways looks. Then, quickly he brought out his wallet. "How much do you want for him?" he asked, "How much? Two, three, four thousand? Name your price!"  
  
"Mr Dyson, he's not mine to sell!" exclaimed Jane, "I though you just wanted to see him."  
  
"Miss Parson's, I should make you aware that I am your elder...."  
  
"Please, Mr Dyson, we'll be leaving now...."  
  
Jane walked towards the door, but Mr Dyson dropped his wallet, ink-stained notes falling to the floor, and ran to the door, locking it. "You're not going anywhere." He grabbed a chair, and pushing Jane to the floor threw it over Edwards's head. There was a loud clang as a metal chair leg hit his metal head, but he fell. Mr Dyson, as if suddenly gripped by bloodlust dropped the chair, the twisted plastic and metal looking like a modern sculpture.  
  
Then he strode towards Jane and grabbed her wrist. Jane let out a whimper, but Mr Dyson kicked her hard and sat down next to her, his fingernails digging into her wrist. "You're not leaving here my pretty. I've done what they want me to do, and they don't give a fuck what happens to you. No one knows about this *thing*" he said, motioning his head toward the unconscious Edward, "and no one would ever believe you about it. " he grabbed her other wrist, and squeezed, holding her hands together, "and no one would ever believe you if...."  
  
There was a flash of scissors and the sound of metal cutting flesh. Jane let out another shriek as she looked into Mr Dyson's face. The madness was lost in his eyes, but it was replaced with pain, pure pain. The few seconds seemed to last a lifetime. She saw the pain, the panic, she heard the one last breath, she watched as blood trickled down from the black of his neck, down his shirt, staining it.  
  
Jane screamed hysterically. She watched his stump down back to the floor, she saw his dead face, and then, as she looked up she saw a woman. A woman with dark blue hair and chains all over her tartan and leather clothing. It was only then that she saw the finger guards she wore with knife-like attachments on them.  
  
"Sweet mother of God, thank God I'm here." The woman gasped, "What the hell was he doing?"  
  
Jane looked up into her blue eyes and whimpered again, kicking her way back to the wall, her clothes stained with pain. The woman stared down at her hands, covered in blood and winced. "I really didn't want to have to do that, but he'll be okay if some paramedic's get here soon, I didn't cut deep, just enough to shock him. He'll be awake in a minute...."  
  
Jane, thinking that this woman was going to kill her gasped, "Who are you?"  
  
"I don't really have a name, but people call me Jes." The woman said with a faint, sad smile, taking off her finger guards and putting then in her many pockets. She held out her hand, "I've been sent to help you. Look, I was sent as back up, but you've got two people how're out looking for you two. Their names are Homer and Ysabelle, and they're going to help both of you. I'm not sure how you got into this mess, but they're going to help you out as much as they can. Now, all you've got to do is get back to the house and wait. They'll come after you and get you out of here, but until then you've got to lay low. "  
  
Jes helped Jane up, and then, leaving her to figure out what was going on lifted Edward up. "For a hunk of metal you're pretty light, " remarked Jes, "now do you understand what I said?" Edward, trying to unscramble his brain, didn't quiet understand what had been said.  
  
"I'll look after him." Said Jane.  
  
"Thanks. Now just leave, if anyone asks, you were here to drop off a science project. " Said Jes. Then she threw a black trench coat at Edward. He caught it, just. "Edward, wear that. Keep your hands in the pockets at all times. That way no one will see your hands."  
  
Edward looked at her and said, "why?"  
  
"Because this wound looks like someone with hands like yours dragged them across his neck. " Jane took the coat from him, and said to Jes, "But how can he fit his hands into the pocke....."  
  
Jes sighed and said, "I did think of that. There're no pockets, just holes to hide them in."  
  
Edward held out one bladed hand while Jane slid the coat over it. How she managed to get it on without ruining it was beyond anyone's guessing, but she did, and Edward slowly slid his hands into his pockets. It worked. He smiled.  
  
"I've got a bit of cash on me, if all else fails, " said Jes, giving them an envelope, "and in there are some notes about your contacts, Homer and Ysabelle. Remember those names, okay? Homer and Ysabelle. "  
  
"Homer and Ysabelle, " repeated Jane, "Homer and Ysabelle, got it."  
  
"Okay, you should leave as fast as possible." Replied Jes with an unamused grin, "I'll try to sort this out as best as I can. " Jes kicked the lock off the door and Jane and Edward ran out unquestioning.  
  
As Jes watched them leave she a groan from the floor. Jes kicked Mr Dyson and hissed to herself, "Well, he's messed everything up now, haven't you?"  
  
**********  
  
As Jane and Edward walked out from the art room a cleaner walked past them. "Good morning Jane" she said in a heavy Mexican accent.  
  
"Good morning Ruth, " Jane answered, stopping.  
  
"What're you doin' here?" she asked, "And your Hansom man friend?"  
  
"He's a friend from outer state." Answered Jane quickly, "we were just bringing in a science project."  
  
Ruth looked down at Edward. The coat had parted a little, and she swore she saw metal blades locked together. Then she looked at his face, a pail patchwork of scars. She looked down again. They *were* blades, under the coat. Jane, smiling sweetly quickly covered them up and walked off.  
  
Ruth felt rather unsettled by the stranger, but Jane? With a stranger? It just wasn't like the girl. Ruth looked at the floor. Someone had left a mess. Paint had been trod down the corridor. She looked back at saw the trail grew stronger as it got closer to the art room. She also saw the trail came from Jane's shoes. Ruth left her mop behind and opened the art room door. What Ruth saw caused her to gasp hysterically and then ran down the corridor shouting, "Murder! Murder!"  
  
*********  
  
Notes - lots and lots and lots of them!  
  
1/Ysabelle's search for cast of thousands is representative of my own while looking for this chapter. It's an absolutely beautiful album, especially two songs, "ribcage" and "Grace under pressure". My brother who hates their music actually like their album, enough to give it to a friend and lose it (grr.....). But I'm off the point. Ysabelle seems the type to like it.  
  
2/This is vaguely based on Heathrow airport, which I visited a bit back when I went on holiday (probably more on that later), but it isn't be beyond the realm of possibility that it is in fact Gatwick and I didn't notice. Also I might have messed up the plan.  
  
3/' "That's doesn't sound right." Said Ysabelle softly, "It sounds....Horrible. Like the people before."' Ysabelle is refereeing to the people she and Homer used to live amongst i.e. general society. The secret behind this will be revealed some time in the future. The same goes for her comment about teachers.  
  
4/ I referenced Edward Sporkfingers! I referenced Edward Sporkhands! How sad am I? (Great story by the way, that's why I referenced it.)  
  
5/ "a short walk that had felt as dangerous as walking across a field in Mozambique" was my attempt at a political joke. Basically it's one of the many countries where there have been wars and people have planted a lot of minefields everywhere, making walking across fields extremely difficult and dangerous, as well as unfarmable. I could have used a better simile on second thoughts, but if I can't make bigoted political statements, what can I do? (get one with writing this story, y'know Xandra.)  
  
6/ Jane is so stupid. She'll ignore her own discomfort and Edwards discomfort just so she doesn't get into trouble with her teacher. At least she ain't perfect.  
  
7/Okay, not only has Mr Dyson well departed from the version in 'Never trust a rabbit' (my claim to fame!) he quotes from 'The Elephant man', one of the many reasons why I haven't updated for ages. I've been too busy watching John Hurt shouting how he isn't an Elephant! But the pay off is some golden material reference and a goddarn brilliant movie.  
  
8/ Jes gets to rescue someone! W00t! She's happy with that, but I don't know if finger guards are called finger guards. Some kid in our class brought in these things that you wear over your fingers and have a pointed tip, so if you get into a fight you can use them as a knife. I don't know how practical that actually is in a fight, but it was better than my original ideas. Again, like in the Elephant man, she wasn't seen until now, and I doubt you'll see her again.  
  
9/ Ick. The end sounds like an Agatha Christie novel. I blame my radio 4 upbringing. I'm so ticked off about that.  
  
Okay, I could go on forever about this chapter, but I think that would take a spare week. I'll stop here and thank you for reading this chapter, and hope that you enjoyed it to some extent.  
  
Thank you for reading, please review if there are any questions left in your mind or if you wish to be nice to me (a rare occurrence in my present climate) or if you wish to point out how dreadfully wrong I am.  
  
Yours Faithfully scribbling,  
  
GloomRaven - Xandra the Blue. 


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